


Give Yourself to Me

by kaguya_yoru



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-16 13:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12343197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguya_yoru/pseuds/kaguya_yoru
Summary: As a magical shopkeeper, Phil is comforted by the simple routine of his every day life, tending to his plants and practicing his craft. Then a mysterious, cloaked figure enters his shop and his life is forever changed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to do a fic for Halloween. This is a fantasy/supernatural AU of my own creation and I pulled from a lot of different sources for inspiration. Witchcraft is an element but its description in this story is not meant to reflect any current Wiccan or pagan practices.

Phil eyed the small mason jar next on his list. It was filled with orbs ranging in color from pale yellow to reddish brown and varying in size, each one punctuated by a black circle in its center. It was more annoying than anything else to keep the magically useless items in stock but with the autumnal equinox fast approaching, tourists would soon crowd his shop staring at it in horrified delight. The soft tinkle of the bell set above the shop door entrance roused Phil from his contemplation of the inventory. With a small sigh, he added ‘eye of newt’ to his resupply list before leaving the paper on the small desk crammed into the back corner of the storeroom.

A hooded cloaked figure was facing away from him when he entered the main floor of the shop.

“May I help you?” Phil called out from behind the wooden counter. He adjusted the cuff of the rolled up sleeve of his white dress shirt as he waited for the response. Paired with dark blue jeans, it was his preferred outfit for working in the shop. 

Hooded cloaks were tricky. He did know some practitioners who favored the garment but usually they heralded a Renaissance faire enthusiast or LARPer. Unfortunately, they were also used all too often by people attempting to shoplift. Sending a small tendril of magic towards the door caused the bell above the entrance to briefly glow before he felt the answering tug that indicated his wards were intact.

A brief rustle went through the leaves of the numerous plants that were crammed onto almost every surface and into every corner of the shop in response to the wash of magic. Most of them weren’t native and shouldn’t be able to grow in the current season, let alone that region’s climate, but he had an affinity for botanical magic that allowed him to circumvent such concerns. He tended to each and every one personally so they had grown accustomed to his unique magical signature. A particularly flirty _Vitis coignetiae_ that liked to climb over the doorway to his storeroom trailed a vine over his shoulder that he gently batted away.

“Flawless.” A smoky voice emerged from beneath the hood with a feminine lilt. One gloved hand was stroking a crystal ball. “Your work?”

“I know a guy. I’m more partial to woodworking than mineralogy,” Phil said. He adjusted his thick black rimmed glasses on his face. “Phil, at your service. I’m going to have to ask you to remove your hood inside the shop. Store policy.”

The woman turned towards him, pushing the hood back as she did so. Her beauty was almost otherworldly, auburn locks tumbling around a sweetheart shaped face graced with bright green eyes and full lips. She stepped up to the wooden counter, its surface completely covered in intricate carvings, and tapped one of the designs. A small spark of blue magic emanated from her fingertip as she did so, a bright contrast to the nail painted a dark red the color of wine.

“I’m surprised your real customers don’t have a problem with that policy,” she said, her finger still resting on the carving of three spirals curling outwards from a center triangle.

The triskelion symbol wasn’t the only way Phil advertised to occultists but it was one of his preferred methods. The simple design had always appealed to him, even as a boy, and more often than not, it found its way into many of his sigils.

“They usually know how to work a glamour,” Phil replied, his lips curving upwards in a small smile. It wasn’t often that he dealt with new customers versed in craft. He had a loyal group of nearby magic practitioners who kept his shop afloat, supplemented by an annual boost in sales around Halloween from tourists. It was enough for him to maintain a comfortable lifestyle, with an indulgent trip or two a year to look for interesting new plants to add to his collection. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

The woman didn’t answer for a moment, moving her finger over the runes, glyphs, and sigils carved into the thick wood. Phil kept a pleasant expression on his face as he felt the light touch of the woman’s magic on his wards, even as his own magic flared in response. She kept it polite, a delicate ping against the strength of his shields before withdrawing completely. The exchange was over in less than a second, leaving him with an odd feeling of gentle ripples across his shields rather than the usual irritating sensation that would take hours to fade. It felt cool and refreshing, rather like dipping a toe into a cool lake on a warm summer evening.

Phil felt his smile slip a little in surprise. He was an able enough practitioner that he could harmonize his magic with most, given enough time, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that degree of synergy at first meeting.

The woman’s face didn’t change expression so Phil wasn’t sure if she’d felt it as well. “Interesting mix,” she said, motioning to the symbols carved in the wood. “You pull from all of the traditions.” 

“Why limit yourself?” Phil responded. He peered more closely at her face. The woman was wearing a glamour, that much was obvious, but his gaze skimmed across its surface. He couldn’t penetrate it without using more magic than was polite so he let it go for now.

Her lips curled upwards, amusement filling her eyes. “Why indeed?” She trailed her fingers along the counter along the grain, the tips of her fingers dipping into the careful carvings. Her head tilted and then she met Phil’s gaze, something deep stirring in her eyes. “This wood is singing,” she murmured.

Phil swallowed, his throat going dry. He was reminded of just how long it had been since he’d shared a connection with anyone, having filled his days with his craft and shopkeeping since his relationship ended with Audrey. The air between them crackled with potential and he felt a sudden yearning to reach out with his own magic.

He cleared his throat and pushed aside the feeling, reminding himself that this was a customer. “What are you in the market for?” Phil asked, falling back into his role as shopkeeper.

“I’d like to commission something,” she said. “Will you come?”

Phil had just opened his mouth to ask where when a ticket appeared in her hand. Reaching out, he grasped it, taking care to avoid brushing against her fingers as she did so. ‘Carson’s Carnival of Traveling Wonders: Admit One,’ the ticket declared.

“Something to use in your act?” Phil asked, intrigued despite himself. He hadn’t made a custom item in ages, not since the cello he’d spent a month carving for Audrey in a last ditch effort to make their relationship work.

“It’s not for me,” she said, her mouth curving into an enigmatic smile. “Will you come?”

Phil rubbed his thumb across the ticket. It was made of heavy cardstock with a hand painted design of an elaborate circus tent. Something about it reminded him of ancient tarot cards, when magic was imbued into every stroke of the brush.

“Yes, I will,” Phil said, nodding his head. “When - ?” he started to ask when he felt a swell of magic washing over him, like a tidal wave. The circus tent on the ticket grew before his eyes, expanding in all directions until it filled his vision. Between one breath and the next, he found himself on hard packed earth instead of hardwood. The heat of late summer still warmed the air and a small wind blew, bringing with it the smell of butter topped popcorn, animals, hay, and the sweet scent of cotton candy.

They were standing outside of the tent that had been painted in a stylized fashion on the ticket, heavy folds of forest green fabric draped across a wooden frame. A sign next to the entrance revealed it to be the tent of Natalia Alianovna Romanova and invited customers to come in for a tarot card reading.

“You couldn’t have let me lock up the shop first?” Phil asked. Despite his mild annoyance at being pulled so unceremoniously away from his store, he was impressed by the expertise with which she’d teleported him. “I assume you’re Natalia?” he asked, nodding towards the sign. Teleportation required the magic user to have a strong connection to the destination.

“I’m sure your wards will keep out anything unsavoury and your plants will do the rest. They're fond of you,” the woman said, that sparkle of amusement back in her eyes. “You may call me Nat. Follow me,” she ordered before starting off at a brisk walk, the hem of her cloak swinging with each stride. She moved faster than he expected her to, considering her short stature, so Phil hurried to keep up.

They headed towards the largest tent, erected in the very center. The carnival was clearly not open to the public yet and there were people hurrying to and fro, still in the middle of setting up booths and games. They ducked beneath one of the side entrances to the tent and made their way between two sets of bleachers.

“Look,” Nat said, stopping in the aisle next to the front row of seats.

Phil followed her gaze to a man crouched next to two falls of purple silk suspended from the ceiling of the tent. He was clad in nothing but black leggings, his spine curved in a beautiful line, as he pressed his face between his knees so that nothing could be seen of his head except his dirty blond hair. Music began, piped in from speakers set high in the air, and the man unfurled from the position in a move so graceful that Phil’s breath caught in his throat.

The story was simple yet poignant, the man attempting multiple times to climb the silks only to meet a setback that would send him tumbling towards the earth in heartstopping falls, stopping only inches from the ground. The black leggings were so tight they almost seemed to be painted on his body, contrasting with the royal purple of the silks, highlighting the musculature of his legs and roundness of his buttocks. Each attempt brought him closer to the top and at last, he wrapped the silks around his arms as the music swelled to a crescendo, spreading them wide in a perfect iron cross hold, face transforming into an expression of elation.

Gone was the pantomimed struggle from the first half of the act. Now, each move made him look as if he was flying, his body contorting into gorgeous positions high in the air with ease, showing off his dexterity and flexibility. As the music sounded its last notes, the man bent his body into an exquisite backbend, one leg extended with the other bent at the knee, the two falls gathered in his hands so that they formed a triangle underneath.

“That’s his favorite pose,” Nat said quietly in the stillness that surrounded the two of them, half hidden in the shadows of the bleachers. “He’s an archer, you see.”

Phil could see. The pose was evocative of a drawn bow, his extended leg the arrow ready to take flight. The man held it for a moment longer and then made his way to the floor, his descent no less graceful than the rest of his performance. He immediately made his way over to them once he reached the ground.

“When are you going to fly with me, Nat?” the man asked as he neared them. Up close, he was even more beautiful, every muscle seeming as if it had been carved out of marble, shining with a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes sparkled with the exaltation of performance, pupils dilated and irises straddling the dividing line between blue and green.

“Perhaps tonight,” Nat murmured, her voice husky with promise, “if you play your cards right.”

The man’s mouth widened in a wild grin and then his arm shot out, pulling her close with a single jerk. She was rising on her tiptoes even as his head lowered, their lips meeting in the middle.

Phil took in a shuddering breath. He was spellbound despite himself, had been from the first moment the music began. The two of them fit together with the ease of long-term lovers but kissed with all the fervor of the first bloom of passion, Nat’s hand on the man’s neck, his arm wrapped around her waist. The longing for connection burst anew within Phil, giving him the impetus to tear his gaze away. What was he even doing here? He should be amongst his plants, not wandering around a circus.

“Who’s this?”

Phil glanced back to see the man staring curiously at him, Nat having extracted herself from his hold.

“Clint,” she said, “this is Phil.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed and Phil felt as if he were being stripped bare underneath the force of his gaze. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, Clint didn’t miss a single inch of Phil in his perusal. It was equally flattering and discomfiting to be under such intense scrutiny; he was so used to being dismissed as just a simple shopkeeper, almost blending into the background amongst his plants and jars.

“He’s seen you fly,” Nat continued. “Now he needs to see you soar.”

At that, Clint’s eyes cut to Nat. “What are you up to?” he asked.

Her lips only curved upwards into that enigmatic smile.

Clint shook his head with an answering grin. Turning towards Phil, he held out a hand. “You’ll need to hold onto me.”

Phil looked at it and then at Nat. She said nothing, only waited patiently for his response.

This was crazy. He still didn’t know why he was here. He had no idea where here was, let alone where they were going to take him next. He should go home right now. 

Slowly, he reached out and grasped Clint’s hand. A flex of Clint’s bicep and Phil found himself within Clint’s embrace, his body pressed along Clint’s front. He huffed out a surprised breath as Clint gathered him close, his hands coming to rest on Phil’s waist. On inhalation, Phil could smell the clean scent of soap on Clint’s skin and it stirred something within him, desires that lay dormant for so long blossoming to life.

“Hands on my shoulders,” Clint said. He was slightly taller so Phil had to look up in order to meet his gaze. They were so close that Phil could feel Clint’s chest rise and fall with every breath. Phil brought his hands up so that they rested on Clint’s broad shoulders, feeling warm bare skin underneath his palms. Like Nat, Clint was almost otherworldly in his beauty. It made Phil self-conscious of the rough callouses on his fingers, the dirt trapped underneath his nails, the ever present smell of loam and mulch that surrounded him.

“Nat will keep everyone else out for a bit. I can’t drop the glamour here but if you want to see - ” Clint broke off and Phil felt a questioning tendril of magic against his personal shield. It felt warm and bright, like a ray of sunshine.

Phil caught his breath, his body swaying even closer to Clint at the touch of magic. He had clearly been alone too long if he was this sensitive to these grazes against his shields. Clenching his teeth together to try to regain his composure, he gritted out, “Is that necessary?”

Clint narrowed his eyes again. “No,” he said, both his friendly demeanor and magic dropping away. His arms tightening around Phil was all the warning he had before they launched into the air.

Phil clutched at Clint’s shoulders, breath rushing out of his lungs as he startled at their quick ascent. At the very edges of his magical awareness, he could feel something stirring the air near him.

They stopped abruptly mid-air near where the tops of the falls were attached to the rigging. It was at least forty feet in the air and a thrill went through Phil followed quickly by a spike of fear as he peeked over Clint’s shoulder towards the ground far below. He hadn't been able to believe that Clint could perform acrobatic tricks this high up with nothing more than a few scraps of fabric to hold his body aloft but if he had the ability to fly, no wonder he hadn't been afraid. That same confidence did not extend to Phil however; he was very much reminded of just how often his feet stayed firmly on the ground.

“Okay, I've changed my mind,” Phil said quickly, returning his gaze to Clint’s face. “I really want to know how you're keeping us up in the air.”

Clint’s expression was drawn into harsh lines, blue green eyes hard. His body was stiff against Phil’s, muscles drawn up tight. Belatedly, Phil realized he’d offended Clint by rejecting his earlier offer.

“I'm sorry,” Phil said softly, letting remorse color his voice. “Will you show me?”

He didn't change expression but something in Clint’s eyes eased. A moment later, Phil felt that warm touch against his shields, only a shade more tentative than before. With only a momentary hesitation, Phil let him in.

He was completely unprepared for his magic to surge forward as soon as Clint breached his shields. Warmth flooded Phil’s body, bringing with it a pleasure so intense he gasped in surprise. Harmonizing magic was always a heady experience but this was something else entirely. Clint’s essence felt like pure sunshine, an almost tangible warmth, and Phil’s magic couldn’t get enough, manifesting in a tangle of wild vines, greedily reaching for every single strand.

Clint visibly startled, head jerking backwards in shock. Thankfully, he still held tight onto Phil. “What the - ” he said before Phil’s magic surged again, spilling through the crack Phil had allowed in his shields to reach across the aether, following the tendril back towards Clint. Before Phil could react, it wriggled around the edge of the opening in Clint’s shields, seeking his core. Clint’s lips parted, a breathy moan falling from them, and his eyes slipped closed.

They hadn’t been entirely stationary, bobbing gently up and down, but all of a sudden they were in freefall, dropping like a stone through the air. Phil’s heart climbed into his throat, terror seizing his chest. He couldn’t do anything to stop them - his magic was intimately tied to the earth - and Clint looked completely out of it. With a monumental wrench, Phil forced his magic back away from Clint, hauling it back across the aether and inside his shields until there was only a small wisp still connected to Clint, emanating from a tiny pinhole.

It was enough. Clint roused from his stupor and they stopped abruptly halfway to the ground. Clint drew in a ragged breath and then another before his eyes fluttered open. “Phil,” he breathed out, voice gone husky.

Phil swallowed, throat dry. Clint looked like he was mid-coitus, all heavy lidded eyes and dilated pupils. His magic surged again at the look in Clint’s eyes but this time, Phil kept a strict hold on it behind his shields, not wanting them to end up as splats on the floor. His magic hadn’t felt this wild since he’d undergone the Ritual of Rebirth, when he’d first laid claimed to his magical heritage.

“Maybe,” Phil said, his own voice in a lower register than usual, “it would be safer for us to get back on the ground.”

Clint stared at him, that penetrating gaze making Phil feel as if he were being stripped bare. Perhaps it was because they were currently connected but this time, Phil didn’t feel uncomfortable. Rather, he felt like when he worked skyclad, his naked body free and open to the elements, to the eddies of magical possibilities in the aether. Finally, Clint nodded and they began to descend.

Phil was still curious about how exactly Clint was keeping them in the air. The weak connection between them vibrated with tension, inviting him to to tap into it and see past Clint’s glamour. He had no desire to fall again though so he held his impulses in check, waiting until his feet were on solid ground. Even though the thrill of flight still coursed through his veins, anchoring his magic in the hard packed earth through the heels of his feet made him feel much better, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips.

“Do you still want to see?” Clint’s husky voice drew Phil’s attention.

Glancing upwards, Phil realized he’d yet to step out of Clint’s arms. Clint seemed equally loathed to let him go, eyes still dark and hooded. “Yes,” Phil admitted. “Yes, I do.”

“Do it.”

There was a challenge to the words, as if Clint was daring him. But Phil could see the glint of fear in Clint’s eyes and knew that he was really testing himself. Harmonizing magic was an inherently dangerous practice; if one practitioner was much more powerful than the other, their magic could overwhelm them, leaving them lost in the aether. Phil had never considered himself to be a particular powerful practitioner and Clint’s shields were amongst the strongest he’d encountered. However, Clint’s reaction to him had been more profound than he would have expected.

Resolving to be extremely careful, Phil reached for the weak connection, focusing his magic so that it would only allow him to see past the glamour Clint had wrapped around him. It was far more difficult to contain his magic than usual and it battered against his mental shields, stretching towards Clint. Gritting his teeth, Phil clamped down on his control, only allowing a small amount to flow along the thin thread connecting them towards Clint’s shields.

Clint sucked in a breath once the tendril of Phil’s magic reached the breach in his shield, head tilting back and his eyes slipping closed again. Phil concentrated on doing just enough to see past the glamour, slowly probing the opening in Clint’s shield with his magic, pushing in by slow degrees. Clint’s breathing sped up as the connection between them strengthened, hitching once before turning ragged. Phil could tell that the glamour was strongest along Clint’s back so he concentrated his own magic into his hands until they glowed green with his essence. Slipping his hands from Clint’s shoulders, he spread them across the breadth of Clint’s back to better channel seeing through it.

Clint’s reaction was instantaneous. “Oh, god,” he moaned, his hands spasming where they still rested on Phil’s waist. In the next moment, Phil saw why.

Massive wings spanned from Clint’s shoulder blades, spread wide and quivering slightly. Phil’s hands were buried at the small feathers near the scapulas, delicate fluff that somehow transitioned seamlessly into smooth skin. Phil ran his eyes over them, marveling at their beauty. From his current position, he could only see the underside of the feathers but they were a deep brown striped with white, transitioning to a bright crimson at the very tips. 

“You’re magnificent,” Phil said, tone soft and wondering.

Clint’s eyes opened to half-mast. Want had darkened them so that they were almost completely black. “More,” he pleaded, voice rough with desire.

Phil huffed out a breath in surprised pleasure. It was exhilarating to cause such an intense reaction in such a gorgeous creature and his cock began to fill and lengthen at the blatant lust in Clint’s eyes. His magic yearned to fulfill Clint’s request, to pour through the connection between them, wrap itself around Clint’s essence, and bring him to new heights of ecstasy.

Nat’s voice sounded next to them. “I think that’s enough for right now,” she said, laying one hand on Clint’s naked shoulder and the other on Phil’s forearm, bared by the rolled up sleeve of his dress shirt. A cool wash of magic flowed through Phil, clearing the fog of desire from his mind and helping reason to reassert itself.

A shudder went through Clint and he turned his head to look at her. “Nat?” he asked, confusion coloring his voice.

With a pang of guilt, Phil remembered the passionate kiss that Clint and Nat shared earlier; he shouldn’t be contemplating doing anything that intimate with Clint. Slowly, he pulled back from the connection between them, keeping it slow and steady until he had withdrawn completely. Clint’s ray of magic still shone between them across the aether until Clint briefly closed his eyes and it winked out of existence. Phil stepped backwards, placing some distance between them physically just as he mentally sealed off his shields.

“Phil and I need to talk now,” Nat said. With relief, Phil noted that she didn’t sound angry about anything that had transpired; in fact, there was a thread of amusement running through her voice. “And you need to get ready for tonight’s performance.”

“Right,” Clint said. His voice shook slightly as he said the word. He glanced first at Phil and then Nat, expression unreadable, before turning away entirely and heading back towards the falls of fabric.

“Come with me.”

Phil followed Nat out of the tent and across the carnival grounds in silence. He felt slightly ashamed of what he’d done. He should have been able to keep things professional - he’d had enough experience doing so in the past - but Clint’s unguarded reaction and his own response had caught him completely by surprise. Even now, he wondered whether he would have had enough control to resist Clint’s last request, had Nat not stepped in. 

They appeared to be heading back towards her tent. Nat broke the silence halfway through the journey. “You know,” she mused, “Clint has always been a reckless one but even I didn’t think he would make his first attempt at harmonizing while in midair.”

Phil stopped dead in his tracks, horror flooding through him. “What?” he exclaimed, aghast at the implications.

Nat had already taken a couple of steps forward so she swung around to face him, laughter dancing in her green eyes. “Oh, yes.”

“We could have _died_.” Phil’s voice rose at the end in what was all too close to being a shout. No wonder Clint had had such an intense reaction. Phil’s first time had been after years of study and months of preparation and the first sensation had still knocked him for a loop.

“But you didn’t.” Nat smiled with what Phil thought was an unsettling amount of glee and gestured towards her tent. “Come on. We’ll talk more inside.”

The interior was very much like he expected: sumptuous fabrics were draped from the ceiling surrounding a low round table in the center of the tent. A deck of tarot cards and a crystal ball were placed on its surface. With a shopkeeper’s eye, Phil noticed that the quality of the crystal ball was not as good as the ones he sold. The only anomalous object was a watercolor painting hanging on the back wall of the tent of a weeping willow next to a lake.

“Would you like to know your fortune?” Nat asked, gesturing towards the table.

“I want to know why I’m here,” Phil replied, trying his best to get this situation back on track. “You said you wanted to commission an item from me. Is it for Clint?”

“Later then.” Nat didn’t seem put out by his refusal. She stretched out a hand towards him, saying sweetly, “You’ll need to hold onto me,” parroting Clint’s words from earlier.

Phil stared at her. “Where are you taking me?”

“The journey is perfectly safe,” Nat replied. “But you can’t get there without me.”

She hadn’t actually answered his question but Phil reached out his hand anyway, curious about where all of this was going. He rather felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. This was the most excitement he’d had in months and he couldn’t figure out whether he was thrilled or alarmed by it all. Truth be told, it was probably both.

Turning, Nat walked towards the back of the tent, pulling him along behind her. Phil frowned as a new scent reached his nostrils. It was the smell of fresh earth and balmy lake water, out of place in a carnival. He could feel his magic reacting to an ancient presence, one whose roots had grown deep into the earth.

Phil realized they had taken more steps than were needed to reach the back of the small tent. His next footfall left an impression in damp earth rather than rich carpet and the step after that found them next to the lake, the tent nowhere in sight. The branches of a towering weeping willow swayed above them in the breeze.

“She’s been waiting for you,” Nat said softly.

“Who?” Phil asked, his own voice hushed. The place seemed to require it; there was a tension in the air, a watchful sort of waiting. For what, Phil had no idea.

Nat tilted her head, something stirring deep in her fathomless green eyes. “Who else?” she replied, which was entirely no help whatsoever. “I’ll just leave you two alone.”

Her hands reached for the fastenings of her cloak, quickly undoing them and letting it slip to the ground. She was completely naked underneath but for her bright red hair, which was so long that it brushed the ground, the only thing preserving her modesty. Before Phil could say or do anything, she was sprinting to the lake’s edge, diving underneath without a single ripple disturbing the water’s surface.

Phil watched the lake for several minutes but she didn’t resurface. Glancing around, he didn’t see any other person around, certainly not the mysterious ‘she’ Nat spoke of.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he sent tendrils of his magic through his heels, anchoring himself deep in the earth. Then he sent his magic out in expanding circles, searching for the one Nat spoke of. Almost immediately, his eyes fluttered open. 

“Oh,” Phil said, shaking his head with a self-deprecating grin. “That should have been obvious.”

After toeing off his shoes, he pulled off his socks and tucked them inside, wriggling his bare feet into the damp ground. Already, he felt more connected to the earth, more in tune with his magic.

He walked over to the base of the weeping willow and placed one hand on it. A gust of wind rustled through its branches, sending a few leaves spiraling towards the ground. Leaning his forehead against its bark, Phil closed his eyes and whispered, “Hello.”

He didn’t know how long he stood there but in the end, there weren’t many images. 

A younger Clint, crouched at the base of the tree, his face hidden between his knees so that nothing could be seen of his head except his dirty blond hair. His wings had obviously just erupted from his back, the downy feathers tinged red with dried blood. Nat, emerging from the water in the center of the lake, an odd blankness in her eyes. Something stirred within their depths when she saw Clint and her body language changed, moving from threatening to inquisitive. 

A slightly older Clint, wincing after hitting the ground, having jumped from one of the lower branches in an attempt to take flight. Nat watched from the water’s edge, the corners of her lips quirking upwards slightly in the barest hint of a smile. 

Nat and Clint lying in the shade of the tree, her legs wrapped around Clint’s waist. Her back arched and his wings flared open wide as their hips moved together in an intimate dance, her eyes closing in pleasure as his face twisted into an expression of ecstasy.

Phil opened his eyes but kept his forehead against the bark, taking comfort in the ancient wood. “I understand,” he said, pitching his voice to carry.

“Do you?” There was an echoing quality to Nat’s voice that made him look over at the lake. She was standing waist deep in the water, her wet hair plastered to her body. Her pale skin seemed to glow and her breasts were lush and full, rosy nipples peaked. Desire coiled low in his gut at the sight even as his heart sped up at the threat of danger that lurked beneath the surface.

“Are you going to kill me?” Phil asked quietly.

“Why should I?”

“You’re a _rusalka_ ,” Phil responded. “It’s in your nature.”

Nat smiled. “And yet, have I killed Clint?”

That made Phil pause. “Is he the exception?” he asked carefully.

“No, I’ve killed him over and over and over,” Nat said with relish. “And still, he begs me for more.”

Phil frowned and then thought back to the images the willow had shown him. “ _La petite mort_ ,” he murmured, his cock thickening as he remembered the way they moved together.

Her smile widened. “Yes,” she sighed, the sibilant echoing through the clearing. “I knew you would understand.”

Nat began to walk towards him, green eyes intent on his, her hair trailing behind her in the water. “The plants have been whispering to me of a man. A man who is kind and steady, who shares his magic indiscriminately,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

Phil knew that he should avert his eyes as she rose from the water but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Her wet hair clung to every inch of her, highlighting her ample curves, and her hips swayed with every step. The tension low in his gut grew tighter. He curled his hands at the desire to reach out and pull her close, run his hands over every inch of her, to make her cry out his name. He had no hope in disguising his burgeoning erection so he didn’t try as he watched her approach. 

“Why me?” he asked when she stopped in front of him.

“I already told you,” she said softly, her hand rising to trail along the length of his jaw. Her fingers were cool against his heated skin and even that simple touch sent want spiraling downward, stiffening his cock so that it strained against the zipper of his fly. She looked into his eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”

Her thumb trailed across his Adam’s apple, briefly stalling his response. He swallowed, feeling the slight pressure against his throat from her thumb as it bobbed up and down. “Yes,” he admitted, closing his eyes.

“Good,” he heard her murmur. Then she punched through his shields as if they were made of tissue paper, her magic sweeping over him like a tidal wave.

For a heartstopping moment, Phil was awash in blue magic, drowning in an ocean of her power, unable to tell where he was in the aether. Then his toes flexed and he felt crumbling dirt beneath his toes. Grabbing onto the sensation, he slammed his own magic into the earth through his heels, anchoring himself. His eyes flew open just in time to see Nat throw her head back and moan in pleasure, her hand still loosely wrapped around his throat.

“Pull back,” Phil gasped. He was still grasping onto that small sensation of dirt beneath his toes, pushing his own magic into the earth with every ounce of his strength, but her power surrounded him on all sides, giving him the vertiginous sensation of not knowing exactly where he was.

Nat moaned again, her other hand coming up to trail down her own throat. Her face was slack with pleasure and as he watched, her fingers slid down to circle one pert nipple. Phil’s cock jumped, another pulse of want going through him. The sensation of dirt was rapidly slipping away. If it disappeared entirely, he would lose himself completely in her and his essence would disintegrate in the aether.

“Nat,” he whispered, unsure of whether she could even hear him, “please.”

Her eyes slid open almost lazily. “Phil?” She sounded drunk with lust, her voice throaty and low.

Phil’s vision was starting to go hazy around the edges. Wave after wave of pleasure battered at him, her power manifested. His cock was aching, yearning for release. He felt himself starting to slip, one of his anchors coming loose as he approached that ultimate climax. He closed his eyes.

“Phil!” Nat sounded frantic now and he felt her start to pull back. It was too little, too late though as Phil raced towards the edge, the tension in his belly tightening to an almost unbearable degree.

Distantly, he heard a rustle of leaves. Thin, flexible branches rapidly wound their way around his wrists and forearms, drawing his arms upwards and backwards until his hands were pressed against ancient bark, rough against his skin. Desperately grabbing onto the sensation, Phil poured his magic into the tree, through his hands into the trunk and through his feet into its roots. At the same time, he could feel Nat’s power slowly receding, the ocean dwindling into a lake and then a pond, narrowing and diminishing until it became more akin to a stream.

At last, Phil felt centered enough that he could open his eyes. His back was pressed against the wide trunk of the willow tree and his arms were still drawn up over his head, its branches keeping him pinned against the trunk. His heart thudded in his chest, his breaths rough and ragged. Pleasure and fear still raced through his veins.

“Phil.”

He looked down. Nat was kneeling in front of him, staring up at him with those fathomless green eyes, something dark stirring within their depths. Phil could still feel the flow of energy connecting them, no longer overwhelming in its intensity. There was an unspoken question in her eyes. Only inches from her face, a dark patch was growing where his cock still strained against the zipper of his fly.

“Do it,” Phil said, voice low and rough.

She was on him in the next instance, ripping open the crotch of his jeans. Phil’s breath caught when her mouth sank down on his length, warm and wet. Her tongue laved the underside of his cock and pulled a groan from his lips. An answering pulse of pleasure washed through their connection, heightening the sensations running through him. Phil wanted to revel in it but he’d been wound up for far too long and all too soon, he was shouting his pleasure to the sky, spilling into her mouth in intense, blinding pulses.

Phil panted against the tree in the aftermath of climax, grateful that the tree waited until he’d caught his breath before unwinding its branches from around his arms. He stumbled slightly as he stepped away from its roots and his hands shook as he fastened his jeans. Looking around, he spotted Nat sitting at the edge of the lake, her long hair pooled around her and her feet in the water. He made his way to her side and sat down next to her. The water was cool against his bare toes.

Nat didn’t look at him. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s in my nature.”

“I could have died,” Phil said quietly, because it needed to be said out loud. Not only to Nat who’d breached his shields without asking but to himself who knowingly took the chance of following her. Silence stretched between them with only the gentle lapping of the water against the shore and the soft rustle of the leaves of the willow tree in the breeze to break it. “Why me?”

“Because I definitely would have killed him,” Nat replied. “You at least had a chance.”

Phil connected the dots. “He asked to harmonize with you.”

“He was so hurt when I refused. He kept insisting that he could take it.” Nat turned her head to look at him with those fathomless eyes. “You’ve felt his essence. What do you think would have happened?”

He thought back to the way he’d felt with Clint and compared it to the way he’d felt with Nat. “His shields were naturally strong but he made no effort to resist. He would have died,” Phil acknowledged, feeling a pang of loss at the very thought.

Nat rose to her feet so Phil followed suit, trailing behind as she walked back over to the tree and looked at it a long time. She reached out and stroked its bark. A rustle went through the leaves and one branch draped itself across her shoulder. “This tree is a part of me,” she said. “I want you to make a bow out of it. For Clint.”

Phil’s eyes widened and revulsion swept through him. “Nat,” he said, making a special effort to keep his voice even. “That’s living bark. I can’t cut into that.”

All plants contained some degree of magic even after death. He could generally detect a muted spark in the wood he normally worked with but it was always practically dormant. This particular tree, though, was made entirely of magic, just as alive as he was. To cut into it would be akin to murder.

Her hand curled slightly against the tree trunk. “It’s the only way,” she said dully. “It’s the only way I can give myself to him.”

“No, I won’t do that,” Phil said, shaking his head and taking a step backwards, feeling the need to distance himself from the very idea. There was a sour taste in the back of his mouth. “And I’ve met Clint, remember? I don’t think he would want you to do this either.”

Nat’s head bowed slightly. “I used to think love was for children,” she murmured. “And then I met Clint. He’s given so much to me. This is the only thing he’s asked in return.”

Phil paused. Even though she had been in the nude this entire time, this was the first time she actually looked naked. This was clearly important to her. An idea blossomed in his mind.

“There may be another way,” he said slowly, his thoughts working furiously. “The Ceremony of Conception.”

Nat looked up. “What is it?”

“It’s a ritual of creation,” Phil said absently, sorting through the knowledge in his head. “It can be tricky to perform and it’s rarely successful. It needs extraordinary strength and focus. And,” he said, focusing in on her, “it requires a carnal sacrifice.”

Nat’s eyes glittered in the shade of the tree. One corner of her lips quirked upwards. “When do we begin?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The past six months have been...rough.
> 
> Thank you so much for those of you who leave kudos and comments, for those of you who subscribe to my stories or to me as a user and then put up with my erratic posting schedules. Please know that I truly appreciate each and every one of you.

Phil rubbed his forehead, hoping to forestall the headache that threatened to blossom. Scrolling through the online grimoire he preferred to use had been more frustrating than illuminating.

Over the top of his laptop, he glanced around the storeroom, noting all of the magical items he had in stock, each one carefully labeled. Not for the first time, Phil wished that craft was more like cooking: the right ingredients put in the right order at the right temperature and you got the same dish every time. Unfortunately, it was much more temperamental; each ritual or spell he did required careful thought and planning before he began. Depending on the circumstances, he could do the same steps twice and get completely different results.

The Ceremony of Conception was deceptively simple. It required only two basic elements: ‘balance’ and a ‘carnal sacrifice.’ Based on his research of the few times it had succeeded, the interpretation of what those elements could entail varied widely. Even then, success seemed to be a relative term. Most of the accounts he’d read seemed to contain a fair amount of backpedaling to say that the end result was what they’d really wanted all along.

Phil sat back in his office chair. He prided himself on his ability to give his customers what they wanted or at least be able to point them in the right direction but he wasn't sure if he could fulfill Nat’s request.

The problem was that the Ceremony of Conception could be the ticket but the potential consequences were disturbing to contemplate.

The problem was that he didn’t know Clint or Nat well enough to be able to construct the details of this ritual. 

The problem was that he had had sex with Nat even though he knew she was in a relationship with Clint.

Phil blew out a long breath, feeling guilt eat at his consciousness as the real reason he was so hesitant bloomed in his mind. It hadn't been until he'd gotten home that he’d realized exactly what he'd done; everything had just happened so quickly. In that moment, with his body screaming for release and the reflection of his desire in Nat’s emerald eyes, he'd thought nothing of saying, “Do it.”

He reached for the ticket Nat had given him, tracing his fingers over the tent painted on its surface. He needed to see them again. He needed to know more about them, more about their relationship, and about what they meant to each other. He needed to figure out where he fit into all of this. Most importantly, he needed to repair any damage he'd done. 

Grabbing his keys, he headed for the front door of his shop. On the way, he briefly paused to move a _Syngonium podophyllum_ further away the window, hanging its basket closer to the storeroom entrance. Placing one finger into the soil of the pot, he sent a small burst of his magic to its roots. He smiled when its leaves stretched in response, contentment settling within him at the sight of his plant well and happy. Another tendril of magic confirmed that his wards were intact before he headed out the door, locking it behind him.

The carnival wasn’t too far from the city’s limits, less than a twenty minute drive by car. Phil tightened his hands on the steering wheel when the sign for it came into view, feeling an uncharacteristic flutter in his gut. Turning the car into the parking lot for the carnival, he noted that it was almost full; the extra time it took to hunt for a parking space did nothing to quell his nervousness.

The line wasn’t too long for tickets and soon he was joining the crowds milling around the grounds. Phil thrust his hands in his pockets as he walked around, letting the sounds of the carnival wash over him: excited chatter from children, vendors hawking their wares, cheery music from the rides, the distant roars of the circus animals. Every so often, he caught sight of a local magic practitioner; he nodded in greeting but didn’t stop to chat, letting his feet carry him where they wanted to go.

Phil came to a stop near the entrance to the center tent, watching the stream of people heading inside to catch the main show. A nearby employee shouted that the show would be starting in less than five minutes and people began to move faster, hurrying to buy snacks and settle in their seats before it began. 

The last time he’d been here, he’d almost died twice. He’d made a good life for himself tending to his plants and his shop. Phil knew that the sensible thing to do was to turn down the commision, walk away, and get back to that life.

“I didn’t see you at last night’s performance,” said a voice behind him. “I wondered whether you would come back.”

Phil turned to see Clint already dressed for his aerial performance, a grey hoodie hiding his bare chest from view. He was struck anew by just how intense Clint’s gaze was, as if he could see inside Phil’s very soul. “It’s a big tent,” said Phil after a moment. “I doubt you would have seen me if I had come.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said, voice quiet but fierce, “I would have.”

Phil’s heart sped up at the determined look in Clint’s eyes. He had no idea what to say to that so he only held Clint’s gaze.

Clint glanced over Phil’s shoulder at the tent. “You are coming to the show, right?” he asked, focusing back in on Phil. “Tonight?”

Phil had had no specific intention of doing so but in the face of Clint’s hopefulness, he couldn't find it in himself to disagree. Slowly, he nodded.

A small, relieved smile appeared on Clint’s face. One of his hands grasped the back of his neck, betraying his own nervousness. “You’ll come find me afterwards? You won’t leave until you do?”

Phil nodded again. The whole point of him coming to the carnival in the first place was to find a chance to talk to Clint and Nat and figure out what to do next. Yet, he was distracted from his conversation with Clint by _something_ that tugged at his magical senses. There was a difference to Clint tonight, something that made him want to move closer to figure out what it was. 

Clint bounced up onto his toes, seemingly starting to feel pre-show energy. “Gotta run,” he said with a grin, glancing again at the tent. “You should go get a good seat.”

He rushed off, heading towards the area that was for staff only. Phil frowned as he watched Clint go, trying to put a finger on what had changed about him, until he disappeared out of sight. Unable to figure it out, he blew out a long breath and turned, joining the people heading inside. Phil snagged a seat halfway up the bleachers, where he had an unimpeded view of the large ring that made up the main stage. He was just in time; the moment he sat down, the lights lowered and the opening music began to play.

The circus acts were fairly typical: jugglers and clowns, animal trainers and people on stilts. There were other aerial acts - trapeze artists and tightrope walkers - but Phil found his attention wandering, wondering when Clint would appear. Halfway through the show, the ringmaster leaped back into sight, working the crowd as acrobats tumbled around her. Phil leaned forward when stagehands hurried forward with purple fabric in their hands, attaching it to rigging that was then raised high in the air. Impatiently, he waited for the ringmaster to finish her shtick, his hands clenching his knees when the lights were finally doused.

Clint’s performance was just as breathtaking as the first time Phil saw it. Clint’s body twisted effortlessly in the air, art and strength coming together to tell a story that needed no words. When it was over, the crowd erupted in whistles and applause, the loudest of the night, the sound echoing through the tent. Phil blew out a shuddering breath, shifting in his seat to mask the burgeoning bulge in his jeans. He closed his eyes against the desire racing through his veins, urges he had no right to pursue crowding his mind, and focused on willing his erection away.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl after that. Despite himself, Phil found himself eager for the show to end so that he could see Clint. He wanted to see the thrill of performance again in his eyes personally, witness the excitement that had vibrated through his body.

Phil was just thinking about leaving early to see if he could catch Clint backstage when the ringmaster bounced back into view.

“How’s everybody doing?” she shouted into the microphone, grinning at the ensuing roar of the crowd. She pasted an exaggerated frown on her face. “Sadly, we’ve come to the last performance of the night.”

Phil resigned himself to staying put. He could make it through one more act and there was no guarantee that leaving early would allow him to find Clint any faster. Phil sat up when he noticed stagehands placing containers on either side of the stage, brimming with arrows with fletching of varying colors.

“You saw him earlier tonight as he flew through the air,” the ringmaster continued. “Now watch as he shows how he earned the title of the World’s Greatest Marksman. Introducing Hawkeye!”

Drums began to sound a rhythmic, primal beat as she quickly exited the arena. Lights began to swing wildly as the tempo gradually increased, heightening the tension even as the ring remained empty. A cheer went up, the crowd voicing its approval, as the drumbeat sped up to a frenetic pace.

All at once, the drums fell silent and the tent plunged into darkness. A single spotlight appeared in the center of the ring and the crowd went wild. Clint flashed a grin as he waved to the audience and then he was off at a dead run, grabbing a handful of arrows as he passed one of the containers.

Every movement Clint made was precise. He moved as if the laws of physics didn’t apply to him. His smile was dazzling as he took aim over and over, the muscles of his back and arms showcased by the revealing outfit. He used every part of the setup in the ring - hanging upside down from the trapeze, running across the tightrope, jumping from the support structures - and his body was constantly in motion. Some of the shots he even made without looking, hand already reaching for the next arrow, arm already steadying for the next draw. Arrows flew through the air and the thud of their impacts complemented the beat of the drums.

He never missed.

“Hey, buddy.”

Phil startled from his reverie. A stagehand was staring at him, broom and dustpan in hand. The bleachers were emptying, people heading towards the exits, the din of their conversations sounding a dull roar in the echoing space of the tent.

“Show’s over. Time to go.”

Phil stood up on autopilot, feeling oddly disconnected from his body. His jeans tightened over his erection as he did so and his first steps moving away from his seat were awkward as a result. He joined the crowd spilling out of the nearest exit, hardly paying attention to his surroundings, still caught up in what he'd seen and the want flowing through his veins. When he finally emerged from the tent, he blinked rapidly. Twilight had fallen during the show and he was temporarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

“Phil!”

Clint was jogging towards him, grey hoodie partially zipped and an elated smile on his face. He skidded to a stop on front of Phil. The fitful breeze chose that moment to blow, bringing a curious mix of stage makeup and sweat wafting to Phil’s nose. It should have been completely unappealing but it somehow wasn't, the evidence of the hard work Clint put in tonight even though he'd made it look effortless.

“Come on,” Clint said. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie and he bounced on the balls of his feet, seemingly just as keyed up as he’d been before his performances. His head jerked, gesturing towards the cluster of trailers behind the center tent. “I need a shower before we do anything else.”

Phil swallowed, ruthlessly suppressing the images Clint’s words evoked, and fell into step with him. They headed towards the rear of the circus, the portion that was off limits to the public, and stopped in front of one of the trailers that was set a little further than the others. “This is me,” he said, flashing another smile at Phil before unlocking the door. He pushed it open and then paused at the threshold before glancing over his shoulder. “Uh,” he said sheepishly, “sorry about the mess.”

Stepping inside, the first thing Phil saw was the small kitchenette in disarray, dishes piled up in the sink and beer bottles lined up along the counter. Clint darted forward to scoop up the clothes scattered across the floor of the living area and bedroom, quickly stuffing them into a hamper next to the bed. A blush colored his cheeks as he waved Phil further inside.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. “I’ll just be a moment.” With that, he ducked into what Phil presumed to be the bathroom. A minute later, he heard the hiss and sputter of the shower.

An image popped into Phil’s mind, startlingly detailed, of Clint peeling himself out of his admittedly already revealing costume. Steam obscured his form but Phil was left with the overall impression of well sculpted muscles and a very appealing physique. A satisfied sigh escaped Clint’s lips once the warm water hit him, his hands coming up to run through his hair as he turned his back to the spray. His head tilted back and he let his mouth fall open, the water filling his mouth and then spilling over his lips. Clint leaned forward, his hands coming up to brace against the tiled shower wall. His eyes opened and they were oh so blue, a shade only seen in an untouched body of water, with green and gold accents adding complexity to the hue. Droplets of water clung to his eyelashes, darkening them so that you could see their true length. Another sigh escaped from Clint’s lips and it seemed to shape the syllables of Phil’s name, a calling that he was loath to resist.

Phil swayed forward, his hand blindly reaching for something, anything to steady him. There was a rattle of glass on glass as his hand scrabbled across the kitchen counter and then he was himself again, sucking in a single, startled breath as he stared at the peeling veneer of the cabinet in front of him. One of the beer bottles had been knocked over by his hand and it rolled off the edge of the counter, a flash of green glass that galvanized Phil enough to make a wild grab for it. To Phil’s great relief, it didn’t break when it hit the floor, just continued its roll until it bumped gently against his foot.

He’d never experienced anything like that before. It was almost as if he’d been transported inside the bathroom itself - he’d felt the humidity of the steam, the warmth of the water against his skin - but he knew for a fact he hadn’t moved from the kitchen. He felt flushed at the memory of the look in Clint’s eyes, blue and green and gold darkening into want, the way his lips had curved around the sound of Phil’s name in his mouth. The lingering heat seemed to sink underneath his skin and began traveling through his veins, twisting and turning but making its way inevitably downwards.

Phil gripped the kitchen counter until the edge of it bit into his palm, using the pain to try to help ground him. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he strove for control. This was all too much. He felt his magic shifting restlessly inside of him, churning and writhing and crashing against his shields; he needed to find a way to stem the flood of sensations coursing through him. Phil tried to extend his magic through his heels but he was too far removed from the earth, surrounded by metal and elevated on cement, his feet encased in leather. Changing tacks, he forced himself to concentrate on the exercises May had taught him: pulling in long, deep breaths, he focused on the air flowing past his lips, filling his lungs, and then rushing out. He just needed to find a moment of stillness on which to concentrate, something to help calm his mind.

His eyes flew open at the click of the bathroom door latch, his body jolting as if the sound were a literal shock to his system. Phil turned to see Clint amble out of the bathroom and all hope of finding tranquility was erased by the sight of Clint’s dirty blond hair darkened by the shower, beads of moisture still sliding down his bare chest. His gaze became fixated on a large drop that continued to make its way over Clint’s abdominal muscles, passing just left of his belly button before it sank into the waistband of grey sweatpants slung so low on his hips that it was indecent. Certainly, the soft, well-worn material was doing nothing to hide the erection straining its confines.

It took everything in Phil to drag his gaze away from that tantalizing sight but he did, forcing himself to look into Clint’s eyes. They were as dark as they had been in his vision, the pupils dilated with desire. There was an invitation there; hell, his whole body was the invitation, hips canted towards Phil, enticing him to take what he wanted.

“I can’t,” Phil forced the words out from a throat gone dry, his voice hoarse with the effort. “You’re with Nat. I can’t come between you two again.”

Too late, Phil realized what he’d admitted. He had always been planning on telling Clint but not now, with desire dumbing his words and slowing his thoughts. He’d meant to break it to Clint gently and apologize profusely for his actions.

Clint tilted his head in obvious confusion, stalling the words that sprang to Phil’s lips. “Nat knows you’re here,” he said. “Didn’t you get her message?”

Phil struggled to get his mind to work, trying to remember if he’d seen a letter or card in his mail in the last two days.

Clint gestured towards the bathroom and, in a flash of insight, Phil connected the dots of the origin of the vision that had literally weakened his knees.

“She’s showing off for you,” Clint said, the tips of his ears turning pink, “but, umh, no more than I am.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “This seduction is not going as well as I’d hoped,” he muttered.

“You don’t need to seduce me,” Phil said honestly. “You already did when you took me - ” His voice trailed off as he finally realized what the nagging sensation at his magical senses meant, the difference in Clint that he’d been trying to put a finger on. He looked more closely at Clint’s shoulders, glad he was wearing his slightly stronger contacts today instead of his glasses. “Where are your wings?”

Glamours could divert your senses away from an object but could not completely erase its effect in the world. There was always a lingering echo of their presence, a sudden movement seen out of the corner of your eye, a noise where there should be silence, an unexplained scratch or bruise, a feeling of déjà vu. Yet, Phil couldn’t perceive Clint’s wings at all, even when he concentrated.

Clint let out a small laugh. “They’re still there,” he said with a grin. “They get in the way of performances so I don’t pull them into this reality.”

Phil blinked, nonplussed. “Was I supposed to understand that?”

Clint’s grin widened. “I could show you,” he said, stepping forward eagerly. “We could harmonize again.”

Phil immediately stepped backwards even as his magic surged forward, causing him to grimace at the sudden increase in effort he had to make to keep it in check. “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “We have to touch to harmonize and if we touch,” Phil swallowed heavily, actually feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he did so, “I won’t be able to stop.”

Clint’s grin turned wicked, dangerous to Phil’s rapidly fading self-control. “I don’t see a problem with that.”

Desire that had sparked at the sight of emerald eyes in a sweetheart shaped face, that had flared hot with the contortion of a body encased in purple silks, that hadn’t been doused by ruby red lips wrapped around his length, blazed hotter and brighter than ever before, threatening to consume him from the inside out. Fuck, he’d been hard for minutes, hours, what seemed like days. 

Still, he resisted. Phil took another step backwards. There was still time, he thought wildly. He could get out of here, go back to the safety of his plants, surround himself with the normalcy of his everyday routine. He lifted his foot to take another step towards the door.

“Oh.” The light dimmed in Clint’s eyes and his smile dropped off of his face, his expression closing off at Phil’s continued retreat. “Nat thought you needed some encouragement to take what you want. But that's not true, is it? You just don’t want me.”

And Phil couldn’t take that step. He knew that the path in front of him would only lead to his own destruction. Nat and Clint were creatures of the fae, extraordinary beings of pure magic. He’d been warned against consorting with them, first in the fairy tales of his childhood and then in the tomes during his magical training. He would be entranced by their allure, succumb to their charms, and lose himself in their beauty.

His foot landed on the ground in front of him rather than behind and he knew himself already lost.

Phil crossed the distance between them in quick, determined strides, following the call of his magic straining against his shields. “That couldn’t,” he said, winding one hand around the nape of Clint’s neck and sliding the other into the small of Clint’s back, “be further from the truth.”

There was a moment, an infinitesimal stretch of time, right before their lips touched. Clint’s eyes were wide, disbelief warring with hope, and Phil hated himself for putting that doubt there, for making Clint believe for a second that he didn’t want him.

The first slide of Phil’s lips against Clint’s was stunning in its intensity. It scorched through him, razed a path through him straight to his very core, but then Clint was pulling back, pulling away from him and everything in him protested the sensation.

“Tell me you’re sure,” Clint said, an earnest look on his face. “I won’t take this from you. I’m not like _them_.” The last word was said with such vitriol that it made Phil pause, pulling back so that he could return Clint’s penetrating gaze.

Phil let his fingers run gently through the short hairs at the nape of Clint’s neck. There was a feeling in his gut that he recognized, a premonition of something dangerous on the horizon. He’d felt it when Clint had held out his hand two days ago and then again when Nat had done the same. Now, as then, he ignored it completely and threw himself headlong into the danger, knowing only that the choice felt right.

“I’m sure,” he said gently before pulling Clint close for a proper kiss.

For a moment, Phil’s mind went completely blank, a complete short-circuit of his senses. Then one by one, they kicked back into gear, sending intense, incohesive messages for his brain to interpret. The doubt fading from Clint’s brilliant blue-green eyes before they fluttered close. The soft moan sounding deep in Clint’s throat when Phil licked at the seam of those plush lips. The clean smell of soap rising from his warm skin that made Phil want to bury his nose at the juncture of his neck, but from which he refrained, loath to give up the pleasures of Clint’s mouth. The wet heat of him, minty with the faint taste of toothpaste. The involuntary roll of Clint’s hips at the first brazen lick of Phil’s tongue that pressed the hot length of him against Phil’s thigh.

Phil tried to piece together the sensations as he pulled Clint closer, licked inside Clint’s mouth with the single-minded purpose of drawing more moans from his throat, let his hands run greedily over every inch of skin that he could touch. But they resolved themselves in bits and pieces, blurry like an Impressionist painting, as if full conception of the reality that was Clint would to be too much to handle. It made Phil even more desperate to experience more of Clint, to map him with his eyes and hands and lips, so that he could say _this was where you trembled at my touch, this was where you moaned my name._

He barely hesitated when he felt the brush of Clint’s magic against his shields, letting a tendril of his magic twine around the ray, following it back to Clint’s core. Phil purposefully slowed his magic when it reached the opening in Clint’s shields, teasing its edge.

Clint’s hips rocked forward and he broke off their kiss with a gasp. Phil let another tendril of magic join the first in teasing him and watched as Clint bit his lip against the rough noise that tore out of him.

“Why,” Clint’s voice was strained, each word a struggle to get out, “why does that feel so good?”

Phil nipped along his jawline as he let another tendril of magic flirt with the edge of the opening, enjoying the way Clint shivered at the sensation. “It doesn’t always. This is special,” he murmured against his skin. Phil captured Clint’s lips for another searing kiss, swallowing each moan down as if it were precious. “You’re special.”

Clnt shuddered at the words, his hands clutching at Phil’s arms as if they were his only lifeline. “Phil, please.” His voice wasn’t too far off from a whine and his eyes were imploring. “I want you to see me.”

Phil slid his hands along Clint’s back, marveling at the silk smooth texture of his skin, warm from his shower and the flush of arousal. As he settled his hands at the base of the scapulas, Phil gathered his essence into his hands until he knew without looking that they were glowing green. He indulged himself in biting Clint’s lower lip just to elicit another one of those delicious noises before finally letting his magic ease inside the opening in Clint’s shield. Their connection sprang into place, bringing with it a wash of warm pleasure that reminded Phil of just how tightly the fabric of his jeans was straining over his own cock.

Clint’s eyes slipped shut in obvious pleasure, his lips parting on a long, drawn out moan and his hands spasming once in their grip on Phil’s arms. As much as he wanted to drink in Clint’s response, Phil had to ignore it, all of his concentration focused on corralling his magic suddenly gone wild, straining and reaching towards Clint. He still didn’t understand what about Clint caused him to have this reaction but he knew, in light of his diminishing grip on his control, that it would be better for him to sever the connection between them as soon as possible. Spreading his fingers along Clint’s back, Phil probed at the connection so that he could see, feeling the quick rhythm of Clint’s heartbeat underneath his fingertips.

Between one beat and the next, Phil’s vision was filled with a blinding light, so bright that it caused Phil to flinch backwards and turn his head, keeping his hands in place on Clint’s back.

“Phil?” he heard Clint ask, worry lacing through his voice. His hands tightened on Phil’s arms as if to keep Phil from running away.

“Bright,” Phil hurried to say, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Sorry.” Clint sounded contrite. “I should have warned you.”

“It's okay.” Phil stroked Clint’s back with one of his thumbs, adding physical reassurance to his words. “Just give me a moment.”

Behind his closed eyelids, the red wash of the afterimage began to slowly recede so Phil blinked his eyes open, keeping his gaze directed away from Clint until he’d adjusted to the sudden increase in light in the trailer. When he was finally ready, Phil shot a quick glance, ready to close his eyes again if it was too much. Instead, his mouth dropped open in amazement. 

“Fairy lights,” Phil breathed out in stunned wonder. 

Thousands of tiny golden lights floated in the air behind Clint, each one periodically winking in and out of existence. They moved seemingly independently of each other but still conformed to the general silhouette of Clint’s wings, leading to a beautiful yet somewhat visually disconcerting sight to behold. He now understood what Clint meant about his wings not being in this reality; his wingspan was massive, about 20 feet, and far too large for the trailer, but the wings passed harmlessly through the nearby walls and furniture.

“So you figured that part out,” Clint said. A smile had appeared on his face at the sight of Phil’s obvious admiration of his wings but it looked stiff and almost frozen now.

“There aren’t too many winged beings,” Phil said. He raised one hand to stroke his thumb along Clint’s jawline. “Does it bother you that I know?”

Eyes hooded, Clint twisted the fabric of Phil’s shirt between his thumb and index finger. “It bothers me that you’re still wearing so much clothing,” he said before lowering his head to kiss Phil’s lips.

It was an obvious avoidance of the question but with Clint’s mouth on his, Phil didn’t care. He cupped Clint’s jaw as their kiss deepened, lips and tongues dancing together in passion, the connection between them vibrating with tension. Their harmonization was so in sync, the pull of the opening to Clint’s core so magnetic, that without his conscious volition, Phil felt another few tendrils of his magic joining the connection. Clint and Phil let out simultaneous groans as the connection strengthened, sending another seductive wash of warm pleasure through Phil’s body.

A primordial sense of self-preservation finally asserted itself, leading to fear spiking in Phil’s chest and alarm bells clanging in his mind. He pulled back from Clint’s lips, gasping for air after the lengthy kiss. At the same time, Phil pulled back from their connection, hauling his magic across the aether even though it fought him every inch of the way.

“No, Phil, don’t,” Clint pleaded with him, hands clutching at Phil’s arms.

Phil set his jaw and continued pulling back. “It’s too dangerous.”

Clint’s eyes flashed and his expression hardened. “I can take it!”

“For me,” Phil replied, teeth clenched with the effort of containing his magic. “It’s too dangerous for me, Clint.”

Silence fell between them and then Phil felt Clint start to withdraw from the connection as well. It only made his magic wilder in response, straining towards Clint despite his best efforts, and once again, Phil spared a quick moment to wonder what the hell it was about Clint that caused him to react this way.

By the time he’d finished enclosing his magic back inside his shields, severing the connection between them, Phil was panting with the effort.

Clint looked uncertain, his gaze searching Phil’s. “Do you want to stop?”

Phil answered him with a hard, bruising kiss, lining up their hard cocks so that a roll of his hips dragged them against each other. Clint groaned and renewed his efforts to divest Phil of his clothing. His nimble fingers danced down the buttons of the button-down shirt and Phil yanked it off as soon as it was open, not breaking their frantic kiss for a single instant. They had to split apart briefly to pull off Phil’s undershirt and then Clint’s hands were unbuckling Phil’s belt, somewhat hampered by Phil thrusting his hands down the back of Clint’s loose sweatpants to grasp Clint’s ass and pull them closer together.

Clint practically ripped his jeans open to wrap his hand around Phil’s cock in retaliation, pulling a deep moan from Phil’s throat. He gave Phil one firm stroke, the calluses on his hand almost making Phil’s eyes cross with how good it felt, and then Clint was pulling back from their kiss, eyes wide.

“Fuck, Phil,” Clint said, licking his lips as he took in the sight of Phil’s hard, leaking cock. His hand clasped into a loose fist barely covered half of its length and only highlighted its generous girth. “It’s going to take some work to get that inside of me but I can’t wait.”

The thought of sliding inside Clint’s willing body made his cock jump, a drop of pre-come welling up at the tip, but Phil had another idea in mind.

“I was thinking of you being inside me, actually.” 

Normally, he didn’t mind either position but there was an ache inside of him at the loss of their shared connection, a hollowness that wanted to be filled.

“Fuck yeah,” Clint crowed before pulling him back in for another kiss, their teeth clacking together in his eagerness. Phil didn’t mind one bit and gave as good as he got, pushing Clint towards the bed. They attempted to shed the rest of their clothing on the way, Clint almost tripping over his sweatpants as he kicked them off and Phil hobbled by his jeans falling to around his knees and getting stuck.

Neither were paying much attention to where they were going, so it was a surprise when Clint’s mouth suddenly dropped in height to Phil’s chest level, his knees having buckled when they hit the bed so that he sat down heavily on its edge. Phil was quick to follow him down, ignoring the dull ache that flared when his knees hit the floor, in favor of wrapping his lips around Clint’s straining erection and feeling the taste of salt burst over his tongue. Something eased inside of Phil as he took Clint further in, something desperate and frantic that had manifested as a fluttering sensation in his chest, his jaw widening as he sank down Clint’s shaft. He went slowly, savoring the stretch and the welcome heft of Clint’s cock in his mouth. Phil was experienced enough to know to stop way before his gag reflex was triggered; as much as he wanted to take Clint in all at once, it was worth it to take his time and do it right.

He slid back up Clint’s shaft just as slowly and Clint’s cock jerked hard as Phil sucked at the head. A loud moan that sounded as if it were ripped from Clint’s mouth came from above him, Clint’s upper body curling forward over Phil’s head and his thighs involuntarily spreading wider. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Clint’s hands grabbing at the bedspread, gathering up great, big folds of it in his fists. Phil switched to long, indulgent licks up and down Clint’s shaft, determined to taste every inch and get it nice and wet. 

“Fuck, that's good,” Clint said in a rough voice. “That’s - ” Phil could feel the weight of Clint’s stare but he glanced up to confirm anyway, a thrill going through him to see the dark want in his eyes. “So good, Phil.”

Phil swirled his tongue around the head, as much for the visual as for the tactile pleasure of it before he pulled off completely. “Lube?” he asked before rubbing the underside of Clint’s cock gently against his cheek, letting the faint stubble from his five o’clock shadow tease the sensitive skin. 

Clint let out a strangled groan and the muscles in his inner thighs jumped as he visibly restrained himself from thrusting. His eyes practically burned in their intensity. “Nightstand,” he said, jerking his head in its general direction.

“Don’t move,” Phil murmured. He finally freed himself from the jeans tangled around his knees and headed towards the direction Clint had indicated, his skin pleasantly warm from the force of Clint’s stare. It seemed Clint’s gaze was focused on his ass as he walked away which sent a spark of anticipation through Phil. 

The nightstand was nothing more than a folding TV tray with an old fashioned alarm clock, a half filled bottle of water based lube, and packets of tissues scattered across its surface. Phil made an approving sound at the brand before heading back over to Clint.

“Not gonna let me do that?” Clint asked, watching Phil coat his fingers with hungry eyes.

Phil sank back down onto his knees. “I’m not done with you yet,” he said before he took Clint back into his mouth, sucking gently on the head. Clint grunted, his hands twisting in the bedspread. At the same time, Phil spread his knees, making it easier to ease a finger inside of himself, his entrance initially tensing at the unfamiliar intrusion before finally giving way.

He teased Clint’s cock with his mouth, holding it steady with his left hand, as his right quickly prepared himself. Maybe there would be another time when he could let Clint do it but right now he was too impatient to get to the main event, to feel the stretch when Clint entered him. Phil let himself take Clint further into his mouth as he inserted another finger, moaning around Clint’s girth as he imagined it. 

Clint groaned. “Phil.” His voice sounded as tense as the muscles in his thighs looked. Phil pulled off Clint’s cock and looked up, taking in his bitten lips and lust-darkened eyes. “Much more of that and this will be over before it’s even started.”

“Can't have that, can we?” Phil replied, amazed that his voice came out as steady as it did, as he slid his fingers from his body.

It only took moments for them to rearrange themselves, but it seemed longer, their progress hampered by their inability to keep their hands off of each other. The urgency from before reasserted itself, the anticipation building underneath Phil’s skin and sending his heart into overdrive. Finally, Clint hovered above him, his condom covered cock poised at Phil’s opening. There was a final question in Clint’s eyes so Phil urged him wordlessly, his hands pressing at the base of his scapulas where his wings would have emerged. Phil could feel the flex of Clint’s back muscles as he leaned forward and then Clint’s cock was breaching his entrance, stealing his entire focus.

It had been years since Phil had been on the receiving end but his body opened up to Clint as if they were long time lovers, Clint pushing inside of him in one slow thrust. Their breaths mingled together as Clint bottomed out, his forehead coming to rest against Phil’s.

“God, you’re so tight,” Clint said, his gaze searching Phil’s. “Are you okay?”

Phil was better than okay. Clint was a welcome weight on top of him, his muscular arms bracketing Phil’s head. The hollowness inside of Phil at their lost connection had finally eased, replaced with breathless anticipation of feeling Clint move inside of him. His cock may not have been as long as Phil’s but he was wonderfully thick, stretching Phil’s inner walls.

“Fantastic,” Phil said. “Were you planning on moving any time soon?”

Clint’s eyes darkened at the challenge. He withdrew slowly until only the head of his cock remained at Phil’s entrance, pausing long enough for Phil’s body to ache at the emptiness, his opening fluttering around Clint’s cock, before pushing just as slowly back inside. It was a tease in the worst way, being filled by Clint’s cock without the accompanying power that Phil knew lay in his coiled muscles. 

The urgency began to rise in Phil again, his orgasm lying frustratingly far out of reach at Clint’s unhurried pace. It took a dozen similar strokes before Phil began to break, his hands scrabbling at Clint’s back and ass, trying in vain to get Clint to thrust harder or faster. Phil’s attempts to thrust his own hips upwards backfired as it only made Clint sit upright, his hands clamping down on Phil’s hips in an iron grip so that they were pinned to the bed. Now Phil didn’t even have Clint’s abs to rub his cock against and he grasped Clint’s forearms, feeling their corded strength.

“Come on!” Phil said through clenched teeth. “Clint, come on!”

Clint’s gaze sharpened even as his hips continued their slow pace. “No, I don’t think so,” he finally said. “I think you like it.”

Phil’s cock twitched, a fresh spurt of precome coming out to join the pool already on his belly. It was evidence enough so Phil didn’t reply, only tried unsuccessfully to thrust upwards again only to find that he couldn’t move his hips a single inch.

On his next thrust, Clint proved that he had known exactly where Phil’s prostate was and had been avoiding it this entire time. The slow drag of Clint’s cock against the sensitive organ had Phil throwing his head back in pleasure, a long groan sounding from his throat.

Clint smirked. “Better?” he asked, obviously already knowing the answer to that question. 

It was sweet torture of a different kind, each slow thrust pushing another drop of precome out of Phil’s hard cock but only hinting at the possibility of orgasm. His wordless and sounded pleas did nothing to change Clint’s pace. Clint’s large hands pinned Phil’s hips to the bed so that he could only get what Clint was willing to give. Helpless want flowed through him, rendering his limbs weak.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. In fact, it was the same way he had felt pinned against the tree, vines twined around his forearms, awash in the sea of Nat’s power. It was arousing and exhilarating and terrifying all at once, feeling completely under Clint’s control. There was no magic involved in their coupling but a shifting of power occurred nonetheless, even more powerful in its primal origins. The sensation made his head swim in heady pleasure and something deep inside him unspooled, a well of tension he’d previously been unaware of fading away.

“That’s it,” Clint breathed out as Phil’s legs fell open wider. “That’s what I was waiting for.”

His next thrust was so hard that Phil’s teeth clacked together with the force of it. Phil couldn’t even moan even though it felt amazing, the shock of pleasure sending lightning down his spine and stealing the breath from his lungs. Clint gave him no time to recover before he withdrew and thrust again, his hands tightening on Phil’s hips so that he was sure to bruise. The punishing pace Clint set was perfect, driving Phil towards his climax with blinding speed. He could only hang onto Clint’s forearms as he took it, his body shuddering and breaths hitching with the force of Clint’s thrusts.

“Come on, Phil,” Clint said, angling his cock so that it hit Phil’s prostate unerringly with his next series of thrusts. His gaze burned into Phil. “Fly with me.”

Phil threw his head back, his hips jerking once in Clint’s firm grip, breath catching in his lungs. It was almost, almost too much, the intensity of Clint’s thrusts skating that line of pleasure and pain. But then Phil’s back bowed involuntarily and he was coming untouched, shouting hoarsely at the ceiling as long streaks of white painted his chest. His orgasm blazed through him as Clint worked him through it, his cock not letting up in the intensity of his thrusts, until Phil melted into the bed in its aftermath, limbs completely lax with pleasure.

It only took another couple of thrusts before Clint was letting out a low groan with his own release, his hands gripping Phil’s hips tightly as his body bowed forward. Phil watched through hooded eyes at the play of emotions that crossed Clint’s face at the moment of his climax, feeling a sympathetic surge of satisfaction at the obvious bliss in his expression.

After a moment, Clint eased out of him, his hands finally releasing their tight grip at the same time. Phil hissed at the sensation, his opening slightly sore from the stretch imposed by Clint’s cock.

“Phil?” Clint was peering anxiously at him, his uncertainty from earlier in the night reappearing. “Are you okay?”

Phil cupped Clint’s jaw, gratified to see Clint lean into the caress without hesitation. “Never felt better,” he said honestly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was originally supposed to be the chapter with the Ceremony of Conception. This is...not that chapter. As usual, my muse and the plot ran away from me. Hope you enjoy seeing how Phil got his magical abilities.

**_Seven years ago_**

Phil bit back the groan that threatened to erupt, his teeth grinding together with the effort. “You didn’t tell me it was going to hurt,” he said, when the wave of pain had subsided.

The man sitting across from him actually spared him a glance this time, one that held absolutely no sympathy. “Did you think it was going to tickle?”

Phil held back an eye roll, knowing that it would have no effect on his mentor. “Does it usually take this long for the magic to settle?”

The man was silent, his attention fixated completely on Phil for the first time in days. “It can,” he finally said.

Phil’s bullshit meter immediately pinged. His mentor had been generous about taking Phil on as a pupil, something that he rarely did any more. Phil had discovered that fact about a year after his training had begun, when he’d been deemed decent enough to join the local coven to learn the theory behind more advanced rituals and spells. The first time he’d attended a meeting, Phil had been shocked to find out his magical knowledge actually far outstripped most of the members there. But not as shocked as the coven members had been to find out that he’d been receiving one on one tutoring from the famous and, in some cases, infamous Nick Fury.

From that moment on, he’d maintained a healthy suspicion of anything Fury told him.

“You told me the dangers of undergoing the Ritual of Rebirth,” Phil said. “The loss of my fledging magic. Losing myself in the aether.” He gestured to himself and gritted his teeth against the brief spike in pain that one movement caused him. “What about now? What happens if I can’t learn to control the magic?”

Without a word, Fury rose from his chair. He crossed the floor to a small side table, an electric kettle and small metal canisters lined up neatly on its surface.

Another wave of pain overtook Phil - the amorphous magic bubbled and roiled within him, searing his insides - and he screwed his eyes shut with the effort of holding back a scream, his entire body tensing with the effort. It had been a week since he’d undergone the Ritual of Rebirth, offering himself to the aether and hoping that against all odds, it would accept his sacrifice and grant him power. Despite his success with small spells over the years, proof that he had the ability to wield real magic, there had been a tiny seed of doubt that the ritual would be for naught. Instead, he’d come out of the ceremony brimming with magical potential, eddies swirling within him but failing to coalesce into something tangible for him to tap into.

It had left him irritable and on edge, with pain as his constant companion. It was not the result he’d been hoping for when Fury had finally declared him ready.

“Here.” Phil’s eyes popped open at the dull thud of ceramic meeting wood. “Drink it.”

Phil eyed the mug with suspicion. In their long standing friendship, Fury had never fixed him a drink. “What the hell is it?”

“It’s leaves boiled in water.” Fury’s right eye bore into him, a plain black eyepatch covering the left, as he took his seat. “What the fuck do you think it is?”

Phil picked up the mug. He wondered where it had come from; the image of Grumpy Cat graced its side. “Who knows with you?” he said, tipping the cup to better see the liquid. It was a bright green, almost neon in color, with small bubbles of air still floating on its surface. He recognized the matcha tea he’d gifted to Fury after his trip to Japan to bring back - well, smuggle would be the more appropriate term - seeds of the _Cercidiphyllum japonicum_ tree for his personal garden.

“Do you remember what I told you about the elements? I’m not talking about the ones on the periodic table.”

“That it was a bullshit concept because no one can agree on what the elements are?”

A huff escaped Fury’s lips. On someone else, it might have been called a laugh. “That’s true,” he said. “Still, in order to temporarily create order out of chaos, balance does need to be maintained.”

Phil frowned. “Temporarily?”

“Paradoxically, chaos is the natural order of the world.” Fury folded his hands together, extending his index fingers so that they rested against his chin. “Everything withers, rots, crumbles down into its component parts. Entropy increases. We are nothing more than little bits of matter held together by electromagnetic forces eager for the first chance to split apart.”

“That’s a bit bleak.”

“It’s also not the point.” Fury gestured to the cup of tea. “Despite all this, we can create order out of chaos. We can make something new.” He pointed to Phil, his one eye glinting in a hard stare. “Just as long as we’re willing to put in the effort.”

Phil contemplated the cup of tea. “That’s a heavy metaphor for you mixing hot water and green powder.” Ignoring Fury’s glare, knowing he was pressing his luck but unable to resist, he continued in a deadpan voice, “Not to mention that scientifically this is just a suspension so really, nothing new has been created - ”

Fury interrupted him, a heavy scowl on his face. “Just drink the goddamned tea.”

Phil knew when he was pushing Fury’s limits so, hiding his smile, he drained the mug in one long swallow. The flavor was full-bodied and grassy, tasting richly of the earth. The water was the perfect temperature so that he felt its warmth all the way down to his stomach without it burning his mouth or tongue. He couldn't deny that he felt better when the cup was empty; the intensity of the pain hadn’t changed but it was somehow just a bit more tolerable.

“Go take a walk,” Fury said when Phil finished the drink, returning his attention to his grimoire. Unlike the online one Phil preferred, his was an ancient text, the kind with detailed illustrations surrounding the first initial of every page. “I’m sick of looking at you.”

They were in Fury’s study, surrounded by the slightly musty smell of old parchment and ink from the bookshelves lining the walls. It was cool and quiet with small motes of dust just visible in the shafts of sunlight coming in from the small, rectangular windows set high in the walls. Phil left his cup on the scarred wooden surface of the main table - a heavy slab of wood cross-sectioned from a tree so wide that he’d failed multiple times to count its rings - and headed towards a door at the far end.

It was a shock stepping from the climate controlled chill of the study into the heat of the garden beyond. A path wound its way through the untamed but lovingly tended beds, worn smooth by the tread of many feet. It was now, in the late spring, that Phil felt that the garden was at its best: the plants competed for attention with brilliant displays of color in every blossom and rich aromas. He made his way through it, neatly sidestepping the delicate stems that spilled occasionally onto the path and ducking under the vines that clung to the trellises arching overhead periodically. He’d always felt more at peace outside and it was easier to use May’s exercises to breathe through the waves of pain with the scent of the garden, a unique mixture of loam and mulch and fragrance, filling his nostrils.

There wasn’t a clearly defined border of where the garden ended and the forest began but Phil felt a change in the air nonetheless - a stillness, the kind that only comes with the weight of the passage of time. His steps slowed until he stopped completely, an uneasy feeling stealing over him. It felt somehow wrong to enter the wilderness burdened by synthetic materials and the urge to derobe had his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt before he got a hold of himself.

He’d heard of practitioners feeling the need to be skyclad for certain rituals but had never experienced the urge himself before. The practice was mainly reserved for more advanced spells, the ones that he wouldn’t be able to do unless he was able to harness the magic he’d been granted. Phil wasn’t sure what it meant that he was feeling the need now but he decided to go with his instincts. He methodically stripped, leaving his clothes folded neatly on top of his shoes, his socks, wallet, and keys tucked inside for safekeeping, before moving further into the woods.

It almost felt like he was returning to Fury’s study as the canopy of the trees closed overhead, filtering the sun into shafts of light that dotted the forest floor. The air was cool without the heat of the sun’s rays, causing the hair on his arms to rise and small goosebumps to pebble his flesh. Unfortunately, the chill did nothing to quell the burning of the untamed magic within him and he occasionally had to clench his jaw, nostrils flaring, when the pain spiked. As he walked, he had to be more and more careful of his steps, picking his way through the undergrowth to avoid stumbling over ancient roots. It was a good fifteen minutes later when Phil reached a round clearing, one that he’d visited many times before. He stepped onto springy blades of grass and then had to stop suddenly mid-stride, his foot hanging awkwardly in the air.

Almost hidden in the shadow cast by his raised foot was a mushroom, its grey domed head just visible. Looking carefully, Phil could see more in the grass, poking up here and there, forming the outline of a large circle. No one knew exactly what would happen if you entered a fairy ring but the general consensus was that it wasn’t going to be something good. He’d always felt a certain draw to this particular clearing in the woods but it loved to torment him, changing the size and the location of its fairy ring to try to trick him into crossing its borders; this time, it took up almost half of the glade. Usually, Phil was much more careful but spending a solid week in pain had eroded his focus and attention.

Placing his foot down carefully outside of the circle, Phil made his way around its edge, crossing the glade until he reached the patch of grass near his favorite tree. He lay down between its gnarled roots, feeling the springy blades of grass cradle his body, the soft soil welcoming his weight, and he closed his eyes against the glare of the sun’s rays.

Time passed. The sun shone brightly, warming his skin. The forest was quiet with only the occasional rustle of the leaves in the wind and his own shuddery breaths and pained whimpers to disturb the air. The silence seemed to press down on him like a physical weight, pushing him more firmly into the earth. Phil was grateful for its grounding presence as the untamed magic roiled within him, sometimes the pain so intense it stole the breath from his lungs. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to tap into the gifts the aether had bestowed upon him. After seven days of it, he was just desperate to feel something other than pain.

His hand moved almost without his volition until his fingertips rested lightly on the angle of his jaw. Phil could feel the tension there and forced himself to relax, recalling memories of soft kisses and lingering touches. He let his fingers trail down his neck and arched into the touch, a shivery feeling stealing over him, as he continued to move his hand down over his chest and abdomen, and down to his groin. Despite the pain still coursing through him, his cock had already begun to flush with arousal, filling under his questing hand. Phil curled his hand around his length, enjoying its ever increasing weight. With his other hand, he stroked the crease of his thigh with his thumb, his breath hitching with the jolt of sensation that went through him at the simple action. Phil gave himself one long, luxurious stroke and his lips parted on a prolonged whistling sigh, his back arching as he pressed further into his hand, heels digging slightly into the soft earth.

Magic surged within him, blazing through his veins, but this time, Phil also recognized the red hot flare of desire. It twisted through him, pain and pleasure alike, and his hand gripped his cock more tightly, his next stroke firm just the way he liked it. He slid his other hand up towards his chest, dragging his palm roughly over his nipples so that it sent sparks through him. He let out a moan on his next stroke that echoed through the air, his face heating and cock filling even more at the reminder that he wasn’t secluded in his room but out in the open. Dimly, Phil realized that there was something going on beyond his understanding but then a powerful need gripped him and his thoughts scattered in favor of continuing a steady rhythm on his cock, using precome to ease the glide of his hand.

His breaths came out in soft pants as he thrust upwards into the strokes. His cock was fully hard now and Phil felt a primal satisfaction at the way his hand stretched around its girth, at how much his hand had to move to traverse its full length. He curled the fingers of his other hand so that his nails dug into his chest, dragging the blunt edges across his skin. The slight sting sent another jolt of desire through his body and he lost his rhythm as the magic surged within him, hips jerking upwards in a harder thrust. Phil did it again, scraping his nails across the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, only inches away from where he was working his thick cock. This time, the sting shot straight to his dick, causing it to fairly leap within the circle of his grip and another spurt of precome to glisten the head.

Phil let out another moan, speeding up his hand on his cock, chasing his release, but he needed something else, something more. Thrusting his fingers into his mouth, he wet them as much as he could as he bent his knees, heels slipping slightly on the blades of grass. Digging his heels into the soft earth to stabilize himself, Phil lifted his hips so that he could move his wet fingers to his entrance. He was trembling slightly as he pressed against it, feeling the muscle flex. He turned his head to one side, a moan falling from his lips, as he pushed inside, his inner walls gripping him tightly. A dull ache accompanied the stretch but it was worth it for the way he felt the tension gathering inside him, coiling tight deep in his gut.

Phil’s breaths turned harsh as he moved his finger in and out, the awkward angle forcing him into a much slower rhythm than the quick pace with which he jerked his cock. Magic was searing his insides again but now it only added to the electricity sparking across his skin, the contraction of his muscles, the drag of his palm over his wet cock. Phil could feel the saliva drying out on his finger, the slickness giving way to a rough friction that burned slightly, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to come in a way that he’d never needed to before, a helpless, desperate want that caused him to throw his head backwards into the soft earth. The meadow echoed with his increasingly frantic groans, the sound doubling back to become the soundtrack for his cresting arousal.

Despite the fact that it was the very thing he’d been chasing after, his orgasm still took him completely by surprise. His toes flexed once in the crumbling dirt. His breath caught. His balls drew up tight from where they had lain heavy against his palm. For one breathless moment, Phil felt like he was suspended, caught between the hand working his cock and the one plundering his entrance, unaware of anything else.

Then he shuddered, a full body quake that rocked him to his core and made him abruptly aware of every inch of himself, from his hair that was regretfully already receding down to the calluses on his feet. He clenched his teeth as another shudder went through him but this time it was the herald of an overwhelming onslaught of pleasure, a veritable avalanche of piercing desire that ripped through him with absolutely no thought of whether he could handle it. Magic roiled within him, a scorching frenzy, and his shout rent the air as he gave himself wholly over to it, letting it rush through every bit of him, filling him completely until it seemingly overflowed and burst out of him. He groaned through the pulsing force of his release, upper body curling and abdomen clenching as jet after jet of come shot through the air, some of it spilling down onto the fingers of his pumping hand.

Phil collapsed on the ground in the aftermath, the tension spooling from his limbs, breaths still coming in short pants. He pulled his finger out from inside him, feeling the muscle clench once when it was free, but otherwise didn’t move. The all-consuming need that had gripped him was gone and in its place, embarrassment rose. He kept his eyes closed, wanting to delay the moment of confronting the reality of what he’d just done - getting himself off like a horny teenager in the woods - even though the evidence was obvious in the come beginning to cool on his hand.

It wasn’t until he’d caught his breath and his heart no longer felt like it was in his throat that Phil realized that his feet felt as if they were tethered. Pulling one of his feet gently off the ground confirmed that it wasn’t a physical tether, the feeling weakening the more he raised it.

Frowning at the odd sensation, Phil opened his eyes to glance down at his feet. Instead, he jerked upwards into a sitting position and stared at his hands. “What the - ?” 

They were glowing a bright green, the color of new shoots in the spring. As he watched, the color slowly faded with an accompanying sinking sensation until something rooted deep inside of his core. The burning pain that had been his constant companion for the past week receded and in its place, magic blossomed within him, finally made tangible, twining, writhing, and unfurling in a wild mass that reminded him of vines. Through what he now recognized as the extension of the magic through his heels, he could perceive the earth on a deeper level than he could before; it was so wonderfully _alive_ , a rich macrocosm that was the source of all creation on the planet.

Phil looked down at his softening cock, still lying heavily along one thigh.

“Huh.”

**_Present day_ **

Nat’s mouth curved, green eyes sparkling in amusement, when Phil burst through the entrance of her tent. “You look like you had a good time.”

Phil resisted the urge to straighten his clothes - there was no helping their rumpled state - and for a moment just concentrated on breathing in and out, feeling the burn in his lungs and the ache from a mild stitch in his side from his rather quick journey through the carnival grounds. 

“Hey, question for you,” he said when he was a little less winded. “What the hell is going on?”

Nat tilted her head. “What do you think is going on?”

Phil’s heart was pounding in his chest and it wasn’t entirely due to the impromptu exercise. “I think you’re playing with me,” he said flatly.

Nat regarded him for a long moment. It looked like he’d interrupted her in the middle of a reading; three tarot cards were lined up neatly on the table in front of her. It was warm inside the tent, the sumptuous fabrics locking in the heat, and the smoke of a lit incense stick curled lazily in the air. There was a part of him that wanted to still be in Clint’s trailer, wrapped in his large, muscular arms, but a sudden flash of insight had had Phil making excuses to Clint - unconvincing ones judging by the befuddled state he’d left him in - and making his way over the carnival grounds, his steps hastening until he’d broken into a stride just shy of being called a run.

“I came to you for the commission. When I saw the connection you had with Clint, I,” Nat stroked one finger along the clear surface of her crystal ball, “encouraged it.”

That's what Phil wanted to understand. Generally, the Fair Folk rarely dealt with humans. They preferred to either stay with their own kind in the Courts or to lead solitary lives, eschewing contact with any other members of the fae. For two of them to team up together as Clint and Nat obviously had was unusual enough. The fact that they also seemed intent on seducing him had alarm bells clanging in Phil’s head. “Why?”

Nat rose from the table in a single graceful movement and moved, hips swaying with every step, until she was in front of him. She wore the same cloak as the first time he met her and Phil couldn't help but wonder whether she was just as unclothed underneath. “Why are you here, Phil?”

“I need to know.” He had intended the words to be demanding but instead they came out in a breathy whisper, the sound hovering in the space between them. There was a yearning inside of him at Nat’s nearness, great and terrible, and no less potent than the wildness that Clint sparked in his magic. He tried to draw in a steadying breath but the sharp bite of the cinnamon incense fragrancing the air only served to make his head swim.

Nat moved closer, so close that he could feel the heat of her. She tilted her face up to look up at him and he realized for the first time how petite she actually was; six inches separated them in height and yet her presence filled the tent. She licked her lips and Phil’s gaze dropped to them as if magnetized. “What do you need to know?”

He tried to respond but he couldn't seem to string together the right words. Instead, Phil slid his hands around Nat’s waist, feeling the beginning of the swell of her full hips. He lowered his head, his eyes searching her fathomless emerald gaze, only waiting to close them at the very end, in the split second before his lips touched hers. Their mouths moved together, at first as gentle as the lapping of the waves against the beach at low tide and then building in intensity until they crashed together as the sea crashes against the cliffs during a summer storm.

He wanted to sink into the kiss, to lose himself in Nat the same way he had in Clint earlier that night, but the nagging doubt in the back of Phil’s mind tugged at his conscious, growing louder even as their kiss deepened. This couldn’t be real. He was a plain, utterly unremarkable man with a small gift for magic. The Fae wouldn’t normally choose to consort with a man like him. He needed to know.

Phil wrenched himself away, breaths coming in harsh pants. At some point during the kiss, he had pulled her close. “Nat,” he said hoarsely, pushing her body gently away from his, “what is going on? Why are you doing this?”

Nat trailed a finger down his cheek. “Such strength,” she murmured. She switched to a businesslike tone. “You’ll need that for what lies ahead.”

Phil blinked, discomfited by the abrupt change in atmosphere. “What?”

Nat moved back to the table and scooped up the tarot cards. Shuffling them with the agility of a card shark, she pinned him with that fathomless gaze. “I expect my commission to be fulfilled, Phil Coulson. What of the Ceremony of Conception?”

It took Phil a minute to gather his thoughts, lingering desire slowing his mind. “I’m having trouble with it,” he admitted. “Not much has been written about the ritual in the tomes I have access to and no one I found online who has tried it seems willing to share the details.” 

“Have a seat.” Nat’s tone brooked no argument. She settled herself on the other side as Phil lowered himself down onto a cushioned stool. She spread the tarot cards in a perfect fan across the table. “Pick a card.”

It was an old tactic to shed light on a difficult situation. Divination had a long history amongst magic practitioners, which was why Phil still stocked crystal balls in his shop, but there were fewer and fewer these days who were educated in its true art. Those who were knew that the crystal balls, mirrors, and cards were only tools; true scrying could still be accomplished in their absence.

Phil leaned forward and hovered his hands above the cards. Closing his eyes, he moved his hand back and forth across the spread. On his third pass, he felt a spike of energy, a jolt of electricity that made his fingers tremble. Opening his eyes, he pulled the card directly below his palm free of the rest. Placing it face up on the table revealed ‘The Lovers,’ a card of the major arcana.

Phil stared at the image. A maiden with braided blonde hair shared an embrace with a red-haired man. The sun blazed above the woman while the moon shone above the man. Even though the colors were reversed, Phil could easily imagine Nat and Clint in the same pose. The smoke from the incense seemed to thicken around him, obscuring the rest of the tent.

Nat’s voice came through the smoke surrounding him, an intonation that reverberated in his mind. “Tell me what you need for the Ceremony of Conception.”

Phil’s eyes were glued to the card but his focus was on the images forming in his mind. “Willow tree,” he said, the words being pulled from deep inside of him. “An arrow made by Clint’s hand. A strand of your hair. Full moon.” 

He blinked and jerked backwards slightly as the tent came back into focus around him in a rush of sound and color. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but the incense stick was spent, one last wisp of smoke emanating from its tip. His eyes felt dry and scratchy and he had to blink several more times to moisten them.

Nat gathered up the rest of the cards in one elegant sweep of her hand, leaving ‘The Lovers’ in front of Phil. “I trust you can construct the ritual now,” she said.

Phil stood up abruptly and took a couple of steps away from the table, physically distancing himself from the visions he saw. She was right. He had all the pieces he needed. Even now, the steps of how he could perform the ritual began to take shape in his mind. The question that remained now was whether he should. “I could.”

Nat looked sharply at him, hearing the hesitation in his voice. “Is there a problem?”

“The Ceremony of Conception is dangerous,” Phil said bluntly. “I haven’t read a single account where it has gone the way the practitioner wanted. And the carnal sacrifice can be,” he paused before continuing in a grim voice, “gory.”

Unexpectedly, Nat smiled. “Phil,” she chided, shuffling the cards in her hands. “You understood death without loss of life. You already know the way around that.”

Phil blinked, automatically changing the details of the ritual in his mind with the flash of insight her words invoked. “That could work,” he said slowly and a bit reluctantly, “but then we would definitely need to harmonize during the ritual.”

“As I said,” Nat laid the tarot deck on the table beside ‘The Lovers’ card, giving it a single tap with one wine colored nail, “you’ll need that strength for what lies ahead.”

Phil shook his head. “It’s dangerous,” he repeated. Some of the accounts he’d read of the ritual had been truly horrific. It was madness for him to have suggested it, to still even now contemplate doing it. “I should refuse this commission.” 

Nat’s mouth curved, lips painted a deep red that matched her nails. “Will you?” she said softly. She moved closer and Phil felt a rush of fear and adrenaline at the predatory look in her eyes. He fought his instinctive urge to step back as Nat advanced, holding his ground as she crossed the short distance between them. 

“I can see what’s in your mind. All those doubts and fears about fading into the background. Becoming a wallflower.” Her lips lingered over the words as she emphasized the consonants. “A shrinking violet.”

She laid a hand over his chest, sliding her hand underneath his open collar to rest on his bare skin. Phil held his breath, remembering the last time she’d touched him, the way she’d torn through his shields as if they were nothing. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes, the hungering appetite in her gaze. Fear caused his heart to beat a frantic pace against his ribs but he also felt his cock thickening as well, desire coiling low in his gut.

“But I’ve also seen what’s in your heart,” she said, looking up at him with those fathomless eyes. “The wildness within. Why do you deny yourself,” she moved so that the full length of her was pressed against him again, his burgeoning erection flush against her abdomen, “from what you really want?”

The air fairly crackled between them and Phil was reminded of the draw he’d felt for her from their very first meeting. His hands twitched but he didn’t reach for her. Not until he knew what this was all about. 

“And you?” Phil asked in a low voice. “What do you want?”

Her lips parted but instead of speaking, her eyelids fluttered shut. The ever present glamour over her face shimmered slightly but then solidified. For a split second, there was a vulnerability to her features, a fragileness reminiscent of a porcelain doll. Then the corner of her mouth quirked and she looked back up at him. Phil knew that whatever she was about to say wasn’t what what she originally planned.

“I want you,” she said with that predatory gleam back in her eyes and deliberately dragged a tendril of her magic down the length of his shields.

Phil’s eyes widened and he froze, every muscle in his body locking up. It would be nothing for her to puncture his shields, to leave him floundering in the sea of her magic. He had no anchors set, nothing to orient himself in the aether. He was utterly and completely at her mercy. And fuck, his cock was so hard at the very thought that it was twitching slightly with every frantic beat of his racing heart.

Nat’s eyes gleamed in satisfaction at whatever she saw in his expression. “Do it,” she practically purred, those two words the three of them had been volleying between each other in unspoken agreement - a challenge, dare, and order all wrapped up in one.

It was the key he needed to a lock he hadn’t known existed. Raw desire shot through him, flooding his senses, and with a groan, Phil grabbed her hips in a bruising grip and crushed his mouth to hers. There was nothing gentle about this kiss; it was hard and deep, one comprised entirely of pure need. He thrust his tongue into his mouth exactly the way he wanted to fuck into her body, hard and deep, filling her completely. She moaned into his mouth and lifted her leg to hook easily around his waist. Phil ran his hand down the length of her thigh; it was shockingly bare and impossibly smooth and somehow, he knew that he was just as naked underneath her cloak as she had been the first time they’d met.

Grabbing her ass in a rough grip, Phil hauled her up, groaning again when he felt her immediately locking her heels in the small of his back. Their lips and tongues battled together in a rough, biting kiss. Her hands never stopped moving, clutching his hair until his follicles ached, oval nails dragging sparks across the bare skin of his neck. She didn’t quite have the leverage to grind against him but she tried nonetheless, hips moving in sinuous rolls, her ass flexing in his hands. Despite the fact she was crushed against him, it wasn’t enough. He needed to be closer to her, to sink inside of her, rock deep until she cried out his name.

Blindly, Phil walked forward, not breaking their kiss for an instant until his knees bumped against the low table. He had to wrench his mouth away from hers and his gasp for air turned into another low moan when she took the opportunity to immediately latch on the lobe of his air in a none too gentle bite. With a sweep of his hand, the crystal ball crashed to the ground, a dull crack sounding its demise, and the tarot deck was sent fluttering into the air. He placed her on the table and she pulled him down with her, licking into his mouth for another deep, filthy kiss.

His hips had taken on a life of their own, thrusting against her like there was no tomorrow, but they were still frustratingly clothed. He wanted to feel the heat of her, delve into her center, but Phil couldn’t coordinate his limbs enough to carry out the actions. His tongue was a poor substitute but he tried to show her exactly what he wanted to do in his kisses, hands tangled in her auburn hair, silently pleading with her to help him regain his senses enough to follow through.

Nat traced a gentle path down the line of his jaw with her hand, at odds with the way she was still devouring his mouth, down the length of his neck until she reached the hollow of his throat. An embarrassing whine escaped his mouth when she pushed him firmly backwards, hand wrapped around the base of his throat, breaking the seam of their lips. It took him a little bit before he could focus his gaze but finally he saw that she was holding up a condom packet between two fingers in her other hand. He recognized it as the condom that had previously been in his wallet but fuck if he knew how she’d gotten her hands on it.

“Come on, Phil,” she murmured. “Let’s see that glorious cock.”

Phil’s hand was trembling as he straightened up and reached down to undo his belt and jeans, breaths still coming in harsh pants, while she ripped open the packet. He had to squeeze hard at the base of his cock as he rolled it on because Nat shamelessly spread her legs on the table, heels propped up on the edge, her cloak falling away to bare her vagina, slick and pink. For a moment he couldn’t move, entranced by the sight of her, open and inviting and wantonly seductive.

Then he was sinking into her, hands tangling in her hair, mouths crushed together, breathing in her shuddering moan as if it were oxygen. She was warm and wet and he could feel the strength of her as she pulled him close, her arms wound tight around his neck mimicking her ankles hooked once again in the small of his back. They rocked together in that ancient rhythm and Phil kissed her again and again, one of his hands slipping down so that his thumb could tease her clitoris.

He swallowed her cries as he brought her to her first climax but didn’t let up. The lingering thought in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be in this position, that two members of the fae had no reason in the world to want him, spurred him on. Her second climax followed quickly after the first and had her shuddering in his arms. This time, Phil had to still his hips and bury his tortured moan into the curve of her neck as she clenched around him. The scent of her was dizzying, the feel of her intoxicating. His own orgasm was so close and he was more than ready to let himself go.

“Think you can do that again?” she murmured into his ear as he panted against her neck. She traced the outer shell of his ear with his tongue, causing him to shiver. “Hmm, Phil? Think you can get me to scream your name?”

The words electrified him. That wildness she spoke of, an echo of the way his magic reacted whenever Clint was near, gripped him and he bared his teeth, feeling it surge through him. Ducking his head, Phil bit the skin of her neck and sucked hard at the thin skin, pulling a shocked little gasp from her throat.

“Take off your cloak,” he growled before pulling out of her completely.

The offending garment was quickly discarded and then only her ankle length hair hid her from view, spilling over her curves in gentle waves. His cock lurched at the sight but Phil ignored it completely, descending upon her to tease her nipples and breasts with fingers, lips, and teeth until her hands were scrabbling at his shoulders, pulling at the collar of his dress shirt and wrinkling the material. Still, Phil continued, slipping two fingers down to thrust into the heat of her, until her moans echoed around the tent and she was rocking her hips, trying her damnedest to grind her clitoris against his palm.

When her cries began to climb in register, Phil pulled his hand free, heedless of her wordless pleas, and planted one hard, swift kiss on her lips. “Hands and knees,” he said, voice low and rough.

It took her a moment to start moving, those fathomless eyes looking a bit dazed, but then she followed his instructions. He took a moment to admire her, strands of her long, silky hair slipping down to hang in a curtain on either side of her, her ass round and full in the air. His magic lay quiescent, had done so ever since he’d stepped inside her tent, but that was no matter, the wildness he felt was all him, a savagery he’d buried deep inside of him, hidden behind books and plants and potions.

“Brace yourself,” Phil warned as he lined himself up. He barely gave her time to do so before he was fucking into her with fast, brutal strokes, forcing cries of pleasure from her throat. He could tell that in this position he was hitting that elusive sweet spot with every thrust and he was relentless in pushing her to the brink, the sound of the sharp smack of their hips coming together competing with their moans and groans. There was a physical crackle in the air surrounding them now, actual electricity causing the hair on his arms to rise on end.

“Nat?” Phil slid one of his hands from where it gripped her hips around the curve of her thigh until he could bury his finger in her folds and tease her clitoris, already slick with her previous release. She let out a gasping shriek, her hips jerking forwards, briefly breaking their rhythm. “Let me hear you?” he asked breathlessly as he flicked the small, sensitive organ, pulling her back onto his cock with his other hand.

Her upper body collapsed onto the table and now Phil could see part of her expression as she turned her head to the side. She seemed temporarily incapable of speech, eyes screwed shut and red lips parted on silent moans. Her entire body was shaking now, tremors running through her, and with one final brush of his finger against her clitoris, her legs also gave out as she violently shuddered, the breath escaping from her in a desperate, passionate shout.

_“Phil!”_

She was falling, leg muscles lax in the midst of her climax, and Phil tried his best to hold her up but this time, the tightening of her inner walls around his cock was his undoing as well. He was dragged down with her, his orgasm crashing over him in a tidal wave of pleasure that whited out his vision and stole his breath away. It felt like he was being born anew, everything he thought he knew about himself washed away in a single blinding instance. A surge of magical energy ripped through the air, sending the tarot cards fluttering in its wake, and leaving behind a tear in the aether that slammed closed with a crash as loud as a thunderclap.

As much as Phil wanted to collapse too when it was over, the table was audibly groaning under their combined weight. He marshaled his remaining strength to leverage himself up and pull out of her. That much accomplished, he found himself unable to move much further away from the table, leaving heavily against it, his own legs shaky after the combined physical and magical release that had swept through him.

“Well, that answers one question,” Nat’s amused voice reached his ears. As he watched, she languidly arched her back before turning her head to look at him, unashamed in her nakedness.

Phil, however, was all too aware of the condom still clinging wetly to his softening cock and the roundness of his middle despite his best efforts to keep in shape. “What’s that?” he asked hoarsely.

Nat raised an eyebrow. “Whether you’re up,” she said pointedly, a corner of her mouth curving upwards, “for the challenge.”

A bark of laughter escaped him before he could help it. Nat’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she lightly jumped down to the ground, reaching for her cloak and settling it around her shoulders with an elegant swirl. Giving into the inevitable, Phil laughed long and hard, letting the absurdity of the situation wash over him. In a single night, he’d somehow managed to sleep with two members of the fae. There was absolutely no way this wasn’t going to end badly for him and yet every fiber of his being balked at the idea of walking away now. Being with Clint and Nat had made him feel alive for the first time in years, as if he’d only been sleepwalking through life before now.

“Fury is going to kill me,” Phil muttered under his breath as he cleaned up and gathered up his clothes. He shook his head as he quickly got dressed. “I am definitely going to get myself killed.”

Taking in a deep breath, Phil pushed down his rising panic and pulled on his shopkeeper persona. Despite the horrible things he’d read about the Ceremony of Conception, he felt somehow certain that he could do it better than they could, that he could succeed where others had failed. Since he was actually going to go through with this, he needed to have all his wits about him.

“The full moon’s in three days,” Phil said once he’d composed himself, sitting opposite her at the table. “If we’re going to be ready in time, we need to talk logistics.”

Nat smiled. “I knew you were the right man for the job.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Phil.”

He didn't know how long he’d been outside. His body had sunk down into the soft earth and the springy grass, the blades of which prickled the skin of his back and legs. His thoughts had slowed along with his breaths, deep, chest expanding ones that brought the familiar scents of flowers, grass, soil, and compost from his personal nursery. Soon, the weather would grow too cool for him to do this but for now, he reveled in the warmth of the sun on his skin, his body bare to the elements. His hands were plunged down into the cool, slightly damp soil, the better to anchor his magic as he communed with the source of his gift.

“Phil.”

The aether was here and there, everywhere and nowhere at once. It existed within each of them and beyond all of them, an infinite expanse of energy that, with the right training, could be manipulated. Some beings, like the Fae, had an intimate connection with it that allowed them to easily draw upon its power. Human practitioners, on the other hand, had to use tools and rituals to tap into the aether. There were some writings that suggested that this had not always been the case; humans used to be able to access the aether much more easily than they could today.

“Phil.”

The sound of his name being called finally penetrated the deep meditative state Phil had fallen into. It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard it the first few times; the vibrations that traveled through the air were just a secondary concern compared to the boundless energy that flowed through the ground. He slowly channeled it into his hands, feeling its potential bolster his own magic. He would need every bit of it for the ritual tonight and had spent the past few days making sure that his power was at its peak.

“Naked! Oh my god, you’re _naked_!”

The shriek that pierced the air shattered his concentration, breaking his connection with the aether. Phil’s eyes popped open and then immediately closed again, the late afternoon sun too bright after having had them shut for so long. Squinting to let his eyesight adjust, Phil slowly sat up, pulling his hands from the crumbling soil as he did so.

Melinda May was leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed. Her face was almost expressionless but Phil could see the glint of amusement in her eyes and the tiniest of tilts to the corner of her mouth. He turned his attention to the other person standing there. An unfamiliar young woman had her face buried in the palms of her hands, body turned partially away.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” she wailed, voice slightly muffled by her hands.

May shrugged. “I did tell you to wait in the car.”

“May.” Phil’s voice was a little hoarse from disuse. He’d closed his shop entirely to focus on preparing for the ritual and hadn’t spoken to anyone in the past three days. “What are you doing here?”

“We have a possible situation,” May said, not averting her eyes as Phil began to pull on his clothes. She’d seen him naked more times than he could count because of coven meetings. She indicated the other woman with a nod of her head.

“What kind of situation?” Phil said, fastening the drawstring of his linen pants. With this much power flowing through him, synthetic materials would be irritating. He didn’t bother to do up the buttons on his linen shirt, letting it hang open. It must have been an emergency because every coven member knew that if his shop was closed, he was not to be disturbed.

May’s expression hardened and she pushed herself upright. “Unsupervised initiation.”

Phil cut his gaze back to the young woman in surprise. From what he could see, she looked, well, normal. “Let me see your face,” he said gently.

The woman hesitated for a moment and then turned to face him, letting her hands fall away. Large brown eyes stared back at him, set in a face with features that suggested she shared a common Asian heritage with May. She looked like she was barely in her twenties, dressed simply in jeans and a T-shirt. Her long, brown hair spilled over her shoulders in gentle waves, bangs just brushing her eyebrows. There were many ways that initiations could go wrong but it didn’t seem like it had had a physical effect on her.

She examined him as well but when her gaze drifted further south, she quickly jerked it back upwards, a blush staining her cheeks. “Umh,” she said, directing her words towards the sky. “Do you need a minute?”

Ah, right. Communing with the aether always caused a physical reaction in him, one that was not easily masked. His erection, while not full, still strained the fabric of his linen trousers, the thin material doing little to hide its contours. He’d long gotten over his embarrassment over the manifestation of his power in the seven years since he’d gained his magical abilities.

“Side effect of my magic,” Phil said dismissively. “It’ll pass.” He turned to May. “Why do you need me?”

“She’s having trouble figuring out her gift,” May replied. “Thought you could help since you have some experience with that.”

Her voice was almost nonchalant but Phil knew that this was anything but. May wouldn’t have interrupted his meditation otherwise.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Phil gestured towards a grassy area nearby. “And you can tell me what made you decide to go through initiation.”

“Wait.” The woman’s eyes darted between the two of them and she took a step back. “You know what? I think I’m done. A weird girl in a flower dress? Covens? This creepy nudist colony?” She shook her head and took another step back. “I’m going back to my van. The bums trying to break in every night were easier to deal with than this freak show.”

Phil could see her panic rising. A practitioner with power but without knowledge was dangerous. He knew now why May had brought her to him.

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to project calm in his voice. “I know this is confusing.” He took a step towards her.

“Don’t come near me!”

Phil only had a second to slam his anchors down through his heels before she lashed out, hands coming up in a defensive gesture, palms facing towards him and fingers outspread. Wave after wave of energy hit him, battering at his shields. Her attack was powerful but unfocused, much of the energy skittering off to either side of him, so that he didn’t fear her breaching his shields. However, he could see that the plants caught in the crossfire were withering under the onslaught, their leaves steadily drooping and turning from green to brown. Through his anchors, he could feel some of them reach the point of no return, where even his magic would be unable to save them.

“Skye, stop it!” May snapped. “You’re hurting him!”

Skye sucked in a startled breath and her hands dropped, the wave of energy cutting off abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - ” she stammered out. “Are you okay?”

Phil didn’t bother to answer. As soon as the energy wave stopped, he dropped to his knees, already reaching for one of the flower beds that had been affected, his magic surging into his hands and making them glow bright green. Unfortunately, many of the _Epigaea repens_ blossoms were lost but through his connection with the earth, he could tell a few had survived, hidden amongst the overgrowth. The _Bellis perennis_ , the other flower bed hit by Skye’s energy, was a hardy species but even some of its plants could not be saved.

Burying his hands in the soil, Phil raised his voice so that he could be heard. “We’ll talk about what you did in a minute,” he said sternly. “But for now, I need silence.”

He didn’t actually need silence. He just wanted Skye to pay attention to what he was doing.

Phil closed his eyes, concentrating on his magical senses to guide his power. He sent tendrils of his magic to the plants that couldn’t be salvaged and then a quick surge of energy through those connections. His erection subsided fully at the release of his power. He heard Skye gasp and opened his eyes to see her staring in stunned amazement at the flower beds.

“What did you do?” she asked.

Phil pulled his hands free from the soil and brushed the excess off. “I turned those plants into compost,” he said shortly. “There was no way I could save them after your attack.”

“Attack?” Skye’s eyes widened. “I didn’t - ”

“You did.” Phil interrupted her, his voice firm. It was important that she understood things were different now. He stood up and took a step forward so that he was standing next to May. “You were scared and you tried to defend yourself. But with your new power, you need to learn control or else you’ll end up hurting someone else or even yourself.”

Skye looked down at her own hands, obviously frightened. “What did she do to me?” she whispered.

Phil narrowed his eyes. She? Clearly, they needed more information.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing. “And start from the beginning.”

The three of them settled onto a grassy area a little way away from the edge of the flower beds, before the start of the small orchard Phil maintained.

“I grew up in foster care,” Skye began, her voice soft. “Usually, babies get adopted pretty quickly but for some reason, whenever I did get into a foster home, I always ended up back in an orphanage before long.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the sadness apparent in her eyes. “By the time I was a teenager, I knew there was no hope of getting adopted permanently. I got kind of obsessed with the idea of finding out about my birth parents.” Skye nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders but there was bitterness in her voice as she said, “I guess I wanted to figure out why they hadn’t wanted me. And maybe then I could figure out why no one else wanted me either.”

Phil forced himself to stay quiet although he felt an overwhelming urge to gather this girl into his arms. The pain she carried was almost palpable, manifested in her hunched shoulders and a gaze that was too weary for her young years.

“I’m really, really good at computers,” Skye continued, “but I couldn’t find a single scrap of information about my birth parents. It was as if I had dropped onto earth out of thin air. So I decided to look into more unusual ways of finding things.”

“Is that how you found out about magic?” Phil asked gently.

Skye nodded. “I found some forums where people talked about using magic to make their wishes come true.” She let out a humorless chuckle. “A lot of it was new age babble but some of it seemed legit. And then I got a private message from this chick named Reina.”

“The girl in the flower dress,” May said. Apparently, she’d heard at least part of this story before.

“Right.” Skye took a deep breath. “We exchanged some messages and then we agreed to meet up. She said that there were some people in this world who had special gifts and she was one of them. Hearing my story, she thought I might be one of them too.”

“Did she say why?” Phil asked.

“The way that I always felt on the outside. The way that no one wanted me. She said that people fear what they don’t understand and that’s why I had never belonged.” Skye bent her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs, blowing out a large breath as she did so. “I didn’t really believe her. I just wanted to find my parents and she said she had a way to do it.”

Phil had an inkling of where this story was going but he wanted Skye to tell it. “What happened then?”

“We arranged to meet. She lit some candles, drew some symbols, and chanted some strange words.” Skye shook her head when Phil opened his mouth to speak. “And before you ask, I don’t remember any of the symbols or words. At first, I thought she was a total kook and I was desperately trying to figure out how to get the hell out of there. But then, suddenly, I was taken somewhere...else.”

Skye fell silent, brows drawing together in a frown. “It was weird,” she finally said. “Wherever I was, even though I don’t think I’d ever been there before, felt somehow familiar. And then I felt this question was asked of me.”

She propped her chin on top of her knees, her voice even quieter than before. “I guess I answered somehow? When I came back to myself, I felt awful, as if every single part of me was at war with itself. Reina was screaming, surrounded by this thick cloud that I couldn’t even see through. I was so freaked that I ran back to my van and got the hell out of there.” 

Unfortunately, her story wasn’t unfamiliar to Phil. There were many ways to gain power from the aether and some were more unscrupulous than others. It sounded like this Reina had been planning on using Skye in order to increase her own power; an orphan with no ties would have been the perfect sacrifice and afterwards, there wouldn’t have been any evidence that she had existed at all. What was unusual was that Skye had survived the ritual.

“Definitely a magical backlash for Reina,” Phil said to May. “Did they find her?”

May shook her head. “No, but we’re looking into it. We don’t have any evidence yet but this probably wasn’t the first time she did this.”

Phil thought the same. “What did the coven do?” They knew each other so well that he didn’t need to elaborate.

“The usual elemental tests,” May replied. “Skye didn’t respond to any of them.”

“That makes sense,” Phil mused. “What I felt wasn’t elemental in nature. She has a more complex gift, one more like my own.”

Skye looked confused. “What are you two talking about?”

Phil met her gaze. “What you experienced during Reina’s ritual was a communion with the aether, the same thing you walked in on me doing. The first time you go through it, we call it the Ritual of Rebirth. Usually, nothing happens. But the aether ended up granting you a gift, which is uncommon, and a complex one, which is rare.”

“The tests the coven gave you were to see if you had control over one of the elements,” May said. “Usually, when someone does the Ritual of Rebirth, they get control over one of the base elements. Fire, water, earth, air, or derivatives of them.”

“Some get more complex gifts,” Phil picked up the explanation, “like me and apparently, you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Skye said, her eyes as round as saucers now. “Are you telling me that what I did was _magic_?”

Phil nodded. “Yes.”

“Holy shit,” Skye whispered, looking gobsmacked. She looked at Phil. “And you can too? That’s what you did earlier.” After he nodded again, she asked, “What’s your gift?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. The best description of my gift is ‘quickening,’” Phil replied. “I can speed up the life cycle of any living thing.”

Skye glanced over at the newly composted plants. “You mean, you can kill things.”

“I could,” Phil said, acknowledging the truth of his gift. “It’s not usually how I choose to use it.”

“And me?” Skye looked at her hands again. “What did I do to you?”

“Well, not much. My plants took the brunt of it,” Phil said, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work. Skye looked just as troubled as before. “I’m going to do something. It’ll feel a little strange but bear with me.”

Phil placed his hands and feet flat on the ground and extended his anchors before reaching out towards Skye with a tendril of magic. It wasn’t precise but pinging someone’s shields usually gave you an idea of their gift. Brushing against Skye’s shields left him with the odd sensation of the ringing of a bell, a reverberation that traveled through him and set his teeth on edge. She also had some of the thickest shields he’d ever encountered.

He frowned. Skye’s long hair lifted in the breeze. “The wind is blowing right now,” Phil said. “Can you feel it?”

Skye held a hand up. “Kind of?” she said after a while. “Is that important?”

Phil looked at May. “Tell the coven she needs to work on shield training. She’s almost completely blocked herself off and she needs to get used to the new way the world feels to her now. She should _not_ use her gift.” He looked around. The length of the shadows around him indicated that afternoon was soon giving away to dusk. “I’m sorry but I need to go. There’s a ritual I need to do soon.”

He turned back to Skye and smiled, hoping that it would reassure her. “The coven will take good care of you,” he said. “If you stick to your training, we can help you answer the questions you have.”

“You can?” A spark of hope lit in her eyes. “You can help me find my parents?”

“We can certainly try.” As much as he wanted to, Phil couldn’t make any promises. There were any number of reasons why Skye had been unable to find out information about her birth parents and many of them had nothing to do with magic. He stood up and Skye and May did as well.

“Go wait in the car,” May said to Skye. “I need to talk to Phil.”

Skye nodded and headed towards the front of the store, where he had a small parking lot.

“Walk with me,” Phil said, already heading towards the back door of the shop. “I need to hurry.”

“You were closed for three days,” May said, easily keeping up with him. “You working on something big for Fury?”

“No,” Phil said, reaching the back door that led directly into his storeroom. Stepping into the crowded space, he grabbed the duffle bag sitting on his desk and began double-checking its contents. “Private commission.”

May stepped into the room as well and closed the door behind her. “You’ve built up a lot of power,” she said. “Do you need an anchor?”

Phil paused. Unlike him and Skye, May had no magical abilities. Because she was unaffected by the aether’s energy, her role in the coven was to be a touchstone during rituals, a way for practitioners to find their way back to themselves after communing with the aether.

“This ritual is complicated,” he said carefully. “Having another energy there, even a neutral one, might throw everything off.”

May scoffed. “You should know by now that I don’t care if you’re doing one of your sex magic rituals,” she said, easily reading between the lines. “I have your back, no matter what.”

Phil steeled himself for May’s reaction. There was a reason he hadn’t contacted her to let her know about this ritual. He looked up at her.

May searched his gaze and then her mouth fell open slightly. “Phil, no,” she breathed out, seeing the truth in his eyes. “You think this ritual is going to backfire.”

“It’s dangerous,” Phil said. “But I’m going to do everything I can to prevent that from happening.”

May’s lips pressed together. “You said this was a private commission,” she said, her voice tight. “Turn it down.”

“I can’t.”

May took a step closer to him. “Phil,” she urged. “Turn it down.”

“I can’t!”

Phil hadn’t meant to raise his voice and he could see May startle in shock. He had known her a long time, almost as long as Fury. Her ex-husband, Andrew, had been the victim of a ritual gone wrong and a magical backlash that had left him disfigured and violent before his eventual demise. May had joined Fury’s coven to prevent the same thing from happening to anyone else. She and Phil had worked together to make sure that the members in their coven took every precaution when doing complex magic.

“Phil,” she said softly. “What is it? What’s different about this one?”

He looked down at his duffle bag, knowing how his next words would sound. “I’ve never felt harmonization like this before,” Phil admitted. “Something inside of me tells me that I need to do this. I need to know where this leads.”

The silence between them was almost tangible. “You sound like Andrew,” May finally said and the grief in her voice broke his heart.

Phil lifted his head and met her gaze head-on, knowing that he at least owed her this much. “I’m sorry, May,” he said, the remorse he felt clearly evident.

“Don’t,” May hissed. Her eyes lit with a fierce fury. “You will not go into this ritual with that kind of attitude. You will get through this and you will come back to me, whole and intact, do you hear me?”

Phil stared at her, taken aback by her response. He’d expected a completely different reaction. “You’re not going to try and stop me?”

May’s expression was solemn and resigned. “I know how to pick my battles with you, Phil.” She laid her hand on top of his and gave it a brief squeeze. “Just come back to me.”

Phil laid his other hand on top of hers. “You’ll look after the girl?” he asked. “She needs a close eye right now.”

May nodded, lips pressed tightly together. After one last squeeze of his hand, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room. A moment later, he could hear the bell over the front door jingle as she exited the shop.

Phil squeezed the handles of the duffle bag with his hands and blew out a long breath. Although he’d been hoping to avoid it entirely, his conversation with May had gone better than expected. Zipping the duffle bag closed, he slung it over his shoulder. Time was running short. He needed to get to the carnival before sunset.

Thankfully, the traffic wasn’t too bad and he made it there in record time. Most people seemed to be headed towards the big tent for the main show so he encountered relatively little foot traffic as he made his way towards Nat’s tent. When he neared it, Phil noticed that there was a ‘Closed’ sign tacked onto the placard declaring tarot card readings within from Natalia Alianovna Romanova. He pulled aside the heavy fold of fabric to enter the tent and then stopped short.

“Clint,” Phil said, stepping inside after his momentary hesitation and letting the fabric close off the entrance behind him. “What are you doing here?”

Clint was standing in the center of the tent, idly twirling an arrow skillfully between his fingers. A frown drew together his eyebrows, his expression troubled. “Wondering whether you’re going to tell me why I had to make an arrow by my own hand.”

Phil glanced at where Nat sat at the low, round table. Her eyes were fixed on the cracked crystal ball and she gave no indication that she’d even noticed his entrance. If Nat hadn’t told Clint why…

“It’s up to Nat whether she wants you to know,” Phil said.

Clint sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.” He took a moment to place the arrow down on the table and then stepped closer to Phil. Tugging the duffle bag off Phil’s shoulder, he set it down gently on the floor.

Phil clenched his jaw as the brush of Clint’s calloused fingers against the bare skin of his neck sent his magic surging in response, the chaotic mass of tangled vines of his essence made even wilder by the amount of power he’d built up over the past few days. His cock leapt to attention as well, rapidly filling, its outline becoming more and more apparent through the thin fabric of his linen pants with every passing moment. Clint glanced downward and when he raised his gaze to meet Phil’s, his own eyes had darkened in arousal. His bright pink tongue flicked out once and left his lips shiny and wet.

Curling his hands into fists, Phil fought to maintain control. The last time they saw each other, Phil had hungered for Clint’s touch, had needed Clint inside of him to replace the loss he’d felt at the ending of their harmonization. This time, with power thrumming through his veins, he wanted to take Clint where he stood, wanted to press inside his willing body, wanted to make Clint tremble and moan and shudder in ecstasy just on his cock.

“I can’t,” Phil said in a low, hoarse voice, a warning to both Clint and himself. He couldn’t afford to spill any more of the energy he’d spent three days collecting; it was bad enough he'd had to expend some to compost his plants earlier after Skye’s attack.

Clint nodded and took a step back, giving them both some much needed breathing room. He offered the arrow to Phil, balanced in his open palms. Its exquisite craftsmanship was evident even at a passing glance, the oak shaft ramrod straight and lacquered and polished to a high shine. The tip held a three-bladed broadhead, elegantly wrought in a metal unfamiliar to Phil. The feathers used for the fetching were cut with exacting precision, three of them to match the flanges of the arrowhead.

Clint spoke, his voice solemn. “I freely offer this arrow, made by my hand and imbued with my essence, for you to do with as you will.”

Shock sliced through Phil, cutting through the lust. His gaze dropped back down to the arrow. On closer inspection, the fetching looked very familiar: brown and white striped feathers with a splash of crimson at the very tips.

Clint had created the arrow using feathers from his own wings.

“Clint,” Phil said. His voice wavered on the single syllable and he had to stop to take a steadying breath at the magnitude of the gesture. “We only met a few days ago. You don’t know me. I could do anything with your essence. I could bind you to me, force you to my will. Why would you do this?”

To his surprise, Clint grinned. “No offense, Phil,” he said, amusement sparkling in his eyes, “but I doubt, even on a good day, that you have enough power to force me to do anything. The only way you could create a bond like that is if I let you.”

A wave of embarrassment swept through Phil. For a moment, he'd forgotten that he was speaking to a creature of the Fae, a being of pure magic. His own gift only allowed him to wield a paltry amount of power in comparison.

“It's a gesture,” Clint continued. “A sign of trust.” Once again, he offered the arrow to Phil.

Still a bit stunned, Phil accepted it, his fingers sliding over the smooth, polished wood of the shaft. “You trust me?” he asked Clint.

Clint stepped closer. He suddenly seemed to tower over Phil even though there was barely an inch difference in their heights. There was a sharpness to the edge of his smile that hadn’t been there before, a wicked promise to the glint of his teeth that sent a shiver down Phil’s spine.

“I trust,” Clint said softly, “that you will get Nat through this safely. I trust that you will do all in your power to keep her safe. And I trust,” Phil had to fight the urge to take a step back at the sudden coldness in Clint’s blue eyes, “that if you do not, this arrow will find its way to your heart.”

It took everything in Phil not to react even though he felt like his heart was in his throat. There was no doubt in his mind that Clint meant every word; Clint wouldn't hesitate to kill him if he failed to keep Nat safe. 

“Are you done?” The sound of Nat’s voice broke through the tension in the air. They turned to see her looking towards them with a far-seeing gaze. Something shifted in the depths of her eyes. “You can’t be late for this performance.”

Clint reached out for her. “Nat - ” he started to say.

_“Go. Now.”_

The power in her voice was unmistakable, an echoing quality that reverberated unnaturally around the tent. Clint’s hand dropped, a muscle ticking once in his jaw. Without another word, he left the tent, the fold of fabric marking the entrance settling heavily in place behind him.

Phil shouldered his duffle bag, trying not to think about the hurt look in Clint’s eyes as he’d left. “We should hurry,” he said. “The moon is beginning to rise.”

Nat held out her hand and waited for Phil to take a hold before heading towards the watercolor painting. Between one step and the next, they were back on the shore of the lake, the branches of the willow tree gently swaying in a soft breeze.

“We’re short on time,” Phil said, placing his bag on the ground. “I need to cast the circle.”

The first step was divesting himself of all clothing; this was a ritual that needed to be performed skyclad. After placing his folded clothing inside his bag, Phil pulled out a long dagger, the metal of its double edged blade intricately carved with a delicate vine pattern and its handle a forest green so deep it appeared almost black. Branch-runes were carved into the handle, ancient symbols of healing from the _Sigrdrífumál_ that had resonated with him when he'd first started practicing magic. 

“Stand back,” he said to Nat as he moved towards the tree, dagger clasped tightly in his hands. Phil spent a moment regarding the ground at the base of the tree, calculating angles in his head. Casting the circle in a single, fluid motion would generate the most power so he traced out the path he would take in his mind, making sure to avoid the tree’s gnarled roots. After he was certain he’d found the best route, he readied himself for the next step.

There was a reason he’d turned down May’s offer to be a touchstone. It had been difficult to see the pattern at first but there had been a common thread through all of the accounts of failed attempts for the ritual they were about to perform. The Ceremony of Conception required commitment from all of those involved. There could be no bystanders.

Allowing a single tendril to unfurl from his core, Phil looked over at Nat. “No matter what happens next, do not touch me,” he warned. He intentionally made himself sound more confident than he actually felt. Truthfully, he had no idea if this would even work or not.

Nat nodded her acknowledgement.

Phil blew out a breath, tightened his hands around the hilt of the dagger, and drove the tendril of magic straight into his heart.

His mouth fell open in a silent scream, his breath seizing in his chest. The intensity of the pain drove Phil to his knees, a strangled cry drawn involuntarily from his throat as he crumpled to the soft ground. Normally, his magic was contained by his internal shields, protecting his physical body from its effects. Now, the untamed magic burned once again in his veins, the way it had after the Ritual of Rebirth. If it were possible, this pain was even worse. With every beat of his heart, he was aware of the tendril of magic piercing its center, circulating the raw magic throughout his body. Every breath was agony, the stabbing sensation of pins and needles erupting with each expansion of his chest.

“Phil,” Nat quickly stepped in front of him but didn't touch him, as promised, “what have you done?”

“The Ceremony of Conception requires ‘balance’ and a ‘carnal sacrifice,’” Phil gasped out, voice strained and breathing labored from the pain. “I didn’t want to take any chances with what that might mean.”

“You’re in pain,” Nat said, gaze sweeping over him from head to toe, obviously checking for physical signs of injury. “What’s happening to you?”

Phil forced himself to his feet, even though the movement caused a fresh wave of pain to wash over him. His vision whited out for a second and he swayed violently but managed to keep his footing. He blinked the black spots out of his vision.

“I gave myself access to the full extent of my magic.” It was hard for Phil to say the words. His throat felt swollen and raw, as if he’d been screaming for hours.

“Human beings are not meant to have that much power,” Nat said. She paused briefly and then continued in that same inflectionless voice. “You'll die if you don't put your shields back up.”

Through the pain, Phil managed a tight little smile. “Then we'd better hurry.”

With a single downward stroke, he pierced the earth with his dagger. Sweat instantly beaded up on his forehead at the fresh wave of agony the motion elicited but Phil gritted his teeth and rode through it. Channeling the magic down his arm and into the tip of his knife, he began to carve a deep furrow into the earth. His magic glowed in the cleft left behind, the color of his essence a deep green reminiscent of the forest.

Phil worked as quickly as he could to cast the circle. He had never been able to access his magic this easily before - it flowed almost without conscious thought from him to exactly where he needed it to go - but Phil could feel his physical strength draining rapidly, limbs growing increasingly leaden with every step. It was with great relief that he made the final motion to connect the lines he’d carved into the earth. His magic flared when the lines were joined, a bright flash of green energy that lit the clearing, accompanied by a sudden surge in the tempo of Phil’s heart. He allowed himself to slump heavily to the ground to catch his breath as he felt the connection snap into place, placing the dagger beside him.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Nat’s smoky voice held a hint of her usual amusement, “but that’s not a circle.”

Phil’s mouth quirked but he didn’t have the energy to look up at Nat just yet. Keeping his legs bent and toes curled into the earth, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, doing his best to drag air in and out of his lungs in controlled breaths rather than the panting he wanted to do. His gaze took in the large triangle that now surrounded the roots of the willow tree. With satisfaction, he noted that every side was of equal length and every angle identical. Phil’s essence glowed in the cleaved earth, providing the grounding necessary for the start of the spell. The light seemed to pulsate and after a moment, Phil realized that the pulsations corresponded with his heartbeat.

“‘Circle’ is a general term,” Phil spoke to ignore the uneasy feeling that stole over him as the glow continued to keep time with his heart, deriving comfort from giving the mini-lesson, “for the sacred space needed for a ritual. The shape of the space is dependent on the spell. Traditionally, the circle is used to create a barrier of magical protection.”

He didn’t feel rested just yet but time was not on their side. Phil marshaled his strength to push himself to his feet, gritting his teeth at the wave of pain that accompanied the action.

“We need to channel a great deal of energy for this spell,” he continued after a deep, labored breath. “The triangle is the best shape for that.”

“You could have drawn a circle around the triangle,” Nat said, revealing that she knew more about spellcraft that she’d initially let on. “Why not?”

“This is an all-in kind of spell,” Phil said and moved closer to Nat until he was only a hand’s-breadth away. “No barriers. No clothes.” He paused briefly before saying quietly, “No glamours.”

He had never seen Nat without her ever-present glamour, a tell-tale shimmer over her opalescent skin if he made the effort to look. Nat held his gaze as she unfastened her hooded cloak, the heavy cloth falling to the ground in large folds. Her long, auburn hair hid her naked form and her glamour still hid her true face from Phil’s eyes.

“What do you see,” Nat said softly into the silence that surrounded them, “when you look at me?”

There were many ways that he could answer that question. Phil wasn’t sure what she was asking but he decided to go with his instincts. “Danger,” he replied. “Beauty. Power. Grace.”

“And physically?” Nat stared at him intently. “What do you see?”

He hadn’t started the ritual and yet this moment seemed to hold a power of its own. Phil chose his next words carefully, knowing that they mattered.

“Fair, glowing skin. Long, red hair. Heart-shaped face. Full lips.” Phil hesitated a moment, worried that it would be too much, but his next words felt right. “There are depths in your emerald eyes I am honored that you let me see.”

A slight flicker of Nat’s eyelashes was all the reaction that he got from his declaration. The silence stretched between them, tension building, until Phil was sure he’d overstepped somehow.

Nat finally broke the silence. “Clint has the Sight,” she said. “The truth of the world is always visible to him so the glamour has never worked.” Nat took a step closer.

On instinct, Phil extended his magic through his heels into the earth. It took hold in large, twisting roots, burying deep into the ground, anchoring him. The aether seemed to press in all around the extensions of his essence; he’d hadn’t felt this close to it since the Ritual of Rebirth, as if only a thin veil separated him from its endless potential.

“You, on the other hand, look at the world with your heart.” Between one breath and the next, the glamour faded away as if it had never been there. Phil stared, amazed, at Nat’s unchanged features. Her voice was uncharacteristically full of emotion, eyes shiny with unshed tears, as she said, “And you see me.”

His heart surged. They reached for each other at the same time, Phil’s hands spanning her full hips and her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. He fell into their kiss with reckless abandon, drinking in the taste of her as if it were the nectar of life, only just barely managing to keep them from harmonizing. The taste of salt burst onto his tongue and Phil eased back to see tears spilling over the curves of her cheeks, Nat’s long eyelashes spiky with moisture. His heart swelled with emotion, yearning blossoming inside of him as he cupped his hand around her jaw, a thumb sweeping across her damp skin.

“Nat - ” he started to say.

Something shifted in the depths of her eyes. “It’s time,” Nat interrupted him. “We do this now. For Clint.”

The words were like a shock of cold water. Phil reigned in the emotions stirred by Nat’s reveal, pushing aside thoughts and feelings he had no time to examine. This ritual was all about Clint and Natasha. His role was to act as a conduit for their bond, not to come in between them. 

“Right,” Phil said, readying himself. “We need to - ”

The breach through his shields was just as unexpected as last time, a tidal wave of magic rushing over him. But having his anchors already in place - much stronger than his usual ones - made all the difference. There was only a moment of disorientation, a single instance where he wasn’t quite sure where he was in the aether, before he found himself again, akin to being swept out to sea by a riptide only to wash up against an island. He was abruptly aware of his hard cock pressed against Nat’s belly, her power amplifying his own gift, desire quickening in his veins.

Loathed as he was to let her go, Phil eased away from Nat's embrace. The raw magic was easier to bear after the rush of endorphins from harmonization and he still had things to do to prepare for the ritual. He had never let his gift overwhelm his senses during a commission and he wasn’t about to start now. Phil ran through the steps needed.

“I'll need a strand of your hair.”

Nat nodded. She lifted a single strand away from the others, held aloft by her thumb and index finger. Her magic sparked to life between them, a blue glow that quickly traveled down its length. Even though he hadn't asked for it, Phil was glad to see her willingly imbue the strand with her essence; it would lend strength to the spell. With a quick jerk, she plucked the strand from her head and held it out to Phil.

Moving as quickly as he could to his duffle bag, Phil grabbed the arrow that rested on top. He wound the strand around its shaft, doubling back so that he could secure it by tying its two ends together. Placing the arrow within the triangle at the vertex closest to them, he adjusted it until the three-bladed broadhead was pointing towards the willow tree. Reaching inside the duffle bag, Phil gathered the rest of his supplies.

As he worked, Phil did his best to ignore the pulsating glow from the circle that continued to keep time with his heartbeat. It had never happened before during a ritual and he wasn’t sure what it meant. It unnerved him, as if he’d inadvertently poured more of himself into the spell than he’d intended.

Bending down to place the white candle at the very tip of one of the triangle’s points, Phil realized that he was feeling far less pain than he had been before. It almost felt as if his limbs were being buoyed, as if he didn’t have to fight so hard to work against gravity. He glanced at Nat.

“You were in too much pain before,” she answered before Phil even asked the question. “We’re running out of time.”

Phil continued his preparations, deciding it wasn’t worth protesting. He could feel the increase in magical energy as the moon continued to rise in the sky. Once a white, black, and blue candle was placed at each point of the triangle, Phil nestled a pure silver chalice within the gnarled roots of the tree. The final touch was setting his dagger inside, a clear, pure note sounding through the clearing as the two metals collided.

Looking over the setup with satisfaction, Phil declared, “We’re ready to begin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and comments are much appreciated. Sometimes I talk about my fics on [Tumblr](http://kaguya-yoru.tumblr.com/). If you want an idea of when I might be updating next, go [here](https://kaguya-yoru.tumblr.com/tagged/kaguya-fics).


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